


The Ravager

by duvarneya



Category: DCU (Comics), Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-06-25 17:23:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 40
Words: 147,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19750318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duvarneya/pseuds/duvarneya
Summary: Rose Wilson has always been a bit of a problem. Contentious, angsty, violent, and constantly at odds with her former teammates, the Teen Titans, her recent exploits have led her to leave the team yet again and venture out to find her own way in life. Or maybe she's just running away from her problems again.





	1. Gotham Nightmares #1: Crashing With The Bat

**Author's Note:**

> Alright, so this is a bit of a new undertaking for me. I am no stranger to long form fan fiction, as my previous work can attest, but this is different in that it's a complete rewrite of a fic I previously completed about 7 years ago on a different site. And I say rewrite because that's essentially what it is. It's not an edit, it's not a minor rework, it's being completely overhauled. While most of the story will remain similar, there are quite a few plot points I want to change, characters I want to change, add, and get rid of, and overall I just want it to be written better. My writing has changed so damn much over the past 7 years and improved so much that going back and reading what I wrote that long ago makes me cringe to no end. I'd say about 90% of what I previously wrote that isn't dialogue is near unusable and needs to be rewritten from scratch. So that's what I'm doing, turning this into something I can be a whole lot more proud of, and maybe something that might interest a few people.
> 
> But you're probably wondering what this fic is actually about. As the title might suggest, this is a fic that focuses around Rose Wilson, aka Ravager, aka Deathstroke's daughter. It follows her path and how her life grows as though the New 52 had never happened and the previous canon of the DC verse had continued beyond circa 2010/2011. I try to adhere as close to that previous canon as possible, with some minor tweaking here and there (hence the divergent timeline tag). For example, after Final Crisis I've elected to have Bruce Wayne remain dead in this timeline, rather than the trippy time travel stuff that came after that. Hence, Dick Grayson is the only Batman. That's probably the most notable difference though. Anything else that seems funky can just be chalked up to me getting something wrong because of how massive the old canon was. 
> 
> For all intents and purposes, though, this is meant to explore what could have been, had the New 52 not happened. Expect to see a lot of notable DC characters make appearances throughout the journey, as well as some original characters. In any case, let's get started. This is sure to be a massive undertaking that'll take a long time to complete, but that's part of the fun.

Gotham City—a cesspool of crime and corruption if ever there was one. If you found yourself in Gotham, you either already lived there and couldn’t afford to move, or you were one of the countless seedy scumbags who thrived on a city underbelly so rampant the local police force couldn’t hope to clean it up. Or maybe you were one of the many crackpot vigilantes running around with a bat on your chest, throwing away your well-being to fight crime in a city structurally _made_ from crime. By all accounts, no one actually wanted to be here.

Unless your name was Rose Wilson.

She shouldn’t be here; she knew that much. This wasn’t her territory, after all. This was _his_ territory, and no way would he want to see her. Then again, who _would_ want to see, after what she’d done? He’d know by now, no doubt about it. Still, where else did she have to go? It was here, or nowhere.

As she slowed her motorcycle to a stop and cut the engine, a deep chill crawled down her arms, biting through her leather jacket. Fuck, if she didn’t know better she’d say this crapsack city was colder by default. Barely halfway through September and already freezing. Probably didn’t help that she was getting here at three in the morning, but still.

With an annoyed grumble, she pulled off her helmet, straightened out her long white hair, and fixed the patch over her left eye. She gazed upward. From her position on the sidewalk, she had to crane her head completely backward to see the top of Wayne Tower, the large glowing W at the top of the skyscraper leering down at her like some kind of omniscient overlord against the night sky. Might as well be.

Well, hope he doesn’t mind a visitor.

* * *

When you think of a penthouse, you might think of a fancy apartment at the top of a luxury tower, costing truckloads of cash to afford. When it comes to the kind of money flowing from the pockets of Wayne Enterprises, multiply that by a magnitude of ten and you might start getting close to the real thing. The penthouse Rose strolled into now might as well have been a full mansion at the top of this building, complete with grand foyer, a crystal chandelier hanging over the entry way, and a pair of staircases coiling to an upper level balcony. Damn entrance was bigger than the entirety of the last apartment she’d lived in.

“Fucking Waynes,” she muttered, easing the front door closed behind her.

The electronic lock pinged, reengaging with a glowing red light. She promptly punched in the 8-digit passcode into the keypad, causing the light to ping a second time and turn green. With that taken care of, she dropped her duffel bag on the floor by the door and wandered through the foyer into open kitchen beyond. None of the lights were on, but she’d always had decent night vision, one eye or not.

Beyond the granite kitchen counters, a sitting room sprawled in front of floor-to-ceiling walls overlooking the entirety of Gotham, city lights twinkling against the night backdrop. An enormous grand piano sat on one side of the sitting room, and on the other a television screen larger than the walls of most normal homes, complete with surround sound speakers. Because of course. Beyond the sitting room, another room opened up into what looked like a home gym.

With a disbelieving shake of her head, she turned to the refrigerator and pulled it open. An immediate grumble knotted through her stomach. Damn, she needed something to eat. Not a whole lot of things to choose from, but judging from the obscene amount of takeout containers, there were plenty of leftovers. Chinese Food would do.

A soft creak pierced the quiet of the darkened penthouse. As she grasped one of the takeout containers, a sudden image flashed through her mind, a brief two second glimpse into what was about to happen. Her precognitive powers had always been minor in the grand scheme of things. She couldn’t see more than a second or two into the future, she couldn’t tell fortunes, and she couldn’t see anything that wasn’t about to immediately affect her, but when it came to personal combat? They were some next-level shit.

The refrigerator door yanked away from her grasp. A lightning quick fist lashed out of the darkness, meant to strike the back of her head. Having already seen as much in her mind, she stepped back, raised a hand, and swung the incoming punch away. In a mere instant, she had the attacker’s arm clamped under her own, trapping it with her genetically enhanced strength. A knee came up this time, but she met it with her own knee. The attacker swung her around, whiplashing her entire body to throw her off, but she rolled with the momentum and swung him further. With a dull thud, they crashed to the floor, she straddled atop the man with her arm pressed against his throat.

A pair of soft blue eyes blinked up at her, sparking with recognition in the dim light from the refrigerator. “Rose?”

Removing her arm from his neck, Rose straightened herself and gave the man beneath her a good long look: Dick Grayson, former Boy Wonder, former Nightwing, and current Batman of Gotham. While he’d always been in good shape, he looked buffer than the last time she’d seen him, highlighted spectacularly by the fact he was dressed in nothing more of boxer-briefs, leaving him mostly exposed in all his chiseled, well-muscled glory. She grinned. “Well hel- _lo_ Mr. Grayson. You dress up for just for me?”

With a swift counter motion, Dick yanked her arm and rolled her off of him. Returning to his feet, he rubbed a hand against his throat and glared at her. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Please, I’m practically a ninja. Wayne security’s got nothing on me.” She sprang back to her feet, stretching out her own arms. “Also, you gave me a keycard the last time we met, remember? Brings the elevator straight to the penthouse.”

“And the security code?”

“Oh come on, it’s still Barbara’s birthday.” Rose snorted a laugh and grabbed the discarded Chinese food container. “You’d think you’d have changed it by now.”

Dick’s face went red a moment, but he cleared his throat and composed himself. “Okay, and _what_ are you doing here?”

“Just passing through. Needed a place to crash for the night, figured you wouldn’t mind.” She went through several cabinets and drawers before discovering the plates and silverware. With the biggest spoon she managed to find, she began shoveling pork fried rice onto the plate. “I mean hell, this place is big enough, right?”

Dick held his glare. “Rose…”

“You always have Chinese takeout for dinner?” She moved on from the rice to the General Tso’s chicken. “Because your fridge is packed full of it.”

“They’ve been looking for you, you know. This is, what, the fifth time you’ve left the team?”

Rose dug into a second container. “Hey, you want an egg roll? I’m not gonna eat both.”

Dick’s tone grew sterner. “They’re worried about you.”

Ignoring him, she took a bite of fried shrimp. Still cold, but still delicious. What was it about cold leftover Chinese food that made it so damn tasty? “Sure you don’t want some?”

“ _Rose._ Stop avoiding the subject.”

Her jaw tensed, as Dick’s words cut straight through her attempts at dodging his questions. With a deep sigh, she threw the half-eaten piece of shrimp onto the plate and turned a partial glance towards him. At one time, this man had trained her. Not in how to fight, but in how to do good. How to be a hero. Got her to turn against her manipulative, bastard of a father, and even got her a spot on the Teen Titans, a place she’d been able to call home. He’d been one of the first and only friends she’d ever had. The way he glared at her now, no one would guess that. More like an angry parent about to scold a child.

“Oh yeah, they’re real worried,” she muttered, looking back to the plate of cold Chinese food. “I could tell by all the reasons they listed why I shouldn’t be on the team.”

“Rose…” Dick’s tone softened, but did nothing to soothe her.

She hung her head, allowing her long white hair to drape around her face like a ghostly veil. “I’ve never seen them that furious, you know. Wonder Bitch wants my head on a pike, and Tim wouldn’t even look at me.”

“They’re your family,” he said, taking a step forward. “Family get angry at each other sometimes. That doesn’t mean you should run away whenever it happens.

“Tell them that. Can’t imagine they were sad to see me go.”

Dick exhaled a long breath through his nose. He approached the counter and leaned against it on his hands. He didn’t look at her, instead staring at the open refrigerator, but he did offer a gentle nod. “But they’re still your family. I know you hate to admit it, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? They’ll forgive you, sooner or later.”

Rose scoffed, pushing away from the counter. She paced across the kitchen, arms folded. “You think it’s their forgiveness I care about? I took off because of what _I_ did. Not them— _me.”_ She turned from the kitchen and wandered out into the sitting room, towards the window-walls overlooking Gotham. Staring out into the night, she said, “I’m just saving them the trouble from having to deal with me anymore.”

Dick didn’t say anything, but Rose heard him sigh and move away from the kitchen. He followed her into the sitting room, where he stood with his arms crossed, joining her in her empty gaze over Gotham.

After a long, quiet beat, she looked away. “So, can I stay here, or are you gonna kick me out too?”

With a tired grumble, Dick rubbed his forehead. “No, I’m not going to kick you out. I guess you can crash here for a few days.”

Rose shifted, easing a breath of relief. After everything she'd done, she could still count on Grayson to help her out. At least someone was still willing to put up with her. Turning from the window, she gave him a suggestive smirk. “So, where am I sleeping? Your bed's gotta be big enough for the both of us, right?”

With an unamused deadpan, Dick pointed across the sitting room. “You get the couch.”

Rose rolled her eye. “You're no fun, Grayson.”

“Good _night_ , Rose.”

* * *

The next morning, a steady beat of hard rock music blasted out the penthouse’s built in sound system, pulsing the entire floor with a deep bass. If a billionaire’s suite was good for anything, it was for the killer audio. Rose strutted across the kitchen floor, moving back and forth between cooking an egg white omelet on the stove, and mixing a bowl of pancake batter. Each step, she timed in rhythm with the beat. She’d never been much of a singer, but still she belted out a few scratchy lyrics.

As she flipped her omelet onto the other side, the music abruptly cut out. A few agonizing seconds of silence drew out, in which she continued her horrendous singing until she realized what was happening and shut up. She grumbled. Glancing behind her, she noticed Dick standing there with the sound system’s remote in one hand, a briefcase in the other.

“You mind?” she said, with a raised eyebrow. “I was listening to that.”

“Do _you_ mind?” Dick fired back, with a frantic gesture towards her. He looked away, his eyes averted.

Rose glanced down at herself, noting the scant bathroom towel wrapped around her torso. Sure, the thing might have been a little small, but still hardly revealing. With a roll of her eye, she turned back to the stove and flipped back her still-damp hair. “Sheesh, lighten up. You act like you’ve never seen a woman in a towel before. Needed to wash up and I found the shower, no big deal.”

Dick huffed, setting the sound system remote down on the counter. “Yeah, I figured that out when I saw the underwear you left hanging up. You will remember to clean up, I hope.”

“Yeah, yeah, let me eat first.”

Shifting his attention towards toward the island in the center of the kitchen, his brow lifted. “You really plan on eating all that?”

Rose looked back over her shoulder. Spread out on the island, in addition to the bowl of pancake batter she’d been mixing, were two separate stacks of waffles, an entire box of oatmeal, six protein bars, a blender full of protein shake, and an entire bunch of bananas. “Just stocking up on fuel for the day. Figured I’d take advantage of your gym while I’m here, get a workout in. When you have a genetically enhanced metabolism, you need a few thousand extra calories to maintain this kind of physique.”

To punctuate her point, she gave a not-so-subtle pose to show off her exposed arms and legs, flexing them so her muscles popped in the most obvious manner. With the kind of life she’d lived, and the amount of training she’d had, Rose had always kept her body in peak physical condition. Her muscles weren’t bodybuilder huge, but they were as defined as they could possibly be, barely an ounce of fat to hide them. Combined with a pair of thighs that could crush a watermelon as easily as cracking an egg, and a set of abs you could break your hand on, and no one would ever mistake her as scrawny. Her entire body was a weapon, and she made damn sure it looked the part.

Granted, the super soldier serum helped with that.

“Right,” Dick said, flatly. “You will get dressed before you use my equipment?”

She grinned at him. “Care to stick around and find out?”

He stared at her a long while, before shaking his head and fixing the tie on his suit. It was a nice suit, clean pressed and almost shiny the way the light hit the jacket. The kind of suit that announced to an entire room exactly how expensive it was. “I have business to take care of.”

“Right, right.” She gave her own shake of the head and turned back to her omelet on the stove. “Gotta play up the whole rich boy persona to the media.”

“You know it’s more complicated than that.”

She snorted a laugh. “Right, complicated.”

"What do you plan on doing today, anyway? Other than eating all my food and burning it off in my gym?”

Prodding at the omelet with a spatula, Rose frowned. She watched the egg sizzle, melted cheese oozing out from the center. A good question, one she didn’t have an answer for. “I’m sure I’ll figure something out.”

Dick walked around the island towards the refrigerator. He opened it and pulled out a bottled water. “Well, if you're sticking around, you can come out with me tonight.”

Her brow shot upright. _“Out,_ out? Like…?”

“Like on patrol.”

She narrowed a glare at him, pouting. “Wow. You sure know how to get a girl’s hopes up.”

“Just be ready by eight,” he said, on his way to the exit. “And don’t forget to dress up.”

“Whatever you say, Grayson.” When Dick disappeared out the door, Rose flipped her omelet onto a plate. Well, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do tonight. “Whatever you say.”

* * *

Rose swirled the glass of whiskey a couple times before taking another quick sip. It burned going down, but she didn’t so much as flinch, slapping the empty now empty glass onto the bar with a grumble. With a raise of her hand, she muttered, “One more.”

The barkeep behind the counter looked up from the glass he was cleaning. “Already? Really putting them away early, aren’t you?”

Rose grunted, sliding her glass towards him. “Just fill it up.”

“Sure, sure.” The barkeep took the glass and took a moment to fill it again with a rich amber liquid. “Don’t see a lot of customers this early, is all I’m saying. Got some problems you need sorting out?”

As the glass slid back towards her, Rose gave a passing glance around her. The bar was little more than a dingy shithole in one of the worse off areas of Gotham—poor lighting, cramped floor space, and grimy windows, empty other than her and the barkeep. Not that she’d expect much else from a bar in Gotham City. Still, she wasn’t going to get any booze at the penthouse; if Dick owned any alcohol, he’d hidden it from her well. At least in this dump, they didn’t bother checking for fake ID’s.

“Maybe,” she muttered, lifting the glass to her lips.

The barkeep nodded, returning to the glass he’d been cleaning. “Figured. So what’s the issue? Family? Boyfriend?” When she didn’t say anything, he stopped cleaning and gave a knowing look. “Money?”

Rose flinched, her hand stuttering on its way back to the counter. So maybe this guy wasn’t too far off. In her long list of problems, money was definitely up there. Before coming to Gotham, she’d been by her bank to withdraw her entire savings, a whole six hundred dollars and twenty-five cents. Minus the gas to get all the way here from San Francisco, she was already down more than half that, and yet here she was wasting the last of her cash in a bar in the middle of the afternoon on a weekday.

“What’s it to you?” she asked, with a narrow glare.

Before the man could answer, the bell above the entryway jingled as the door swung open. Two men entered, one tall and lanky with a dark brown coat, the other short and squat wearing a red blazer. They made their way straight to the bar, giving the barkeep nonchalant waves.

“Hold that question,” said the barkeep, as the two men approached. He turned away from Rose to engage them. “Danny, Gavin, good to see you.”

The short man in the blazer laughed and gave the barkeep a firm handshake. “Always a pleasure, Tommy-boy. Got what we came for?”

“Sure, sure, s’down in the basement.” Tommy stepped out from behind the counter and waved the two along, heading for a door marked EMPLOYEES ONLY. “Follow me.”

“Come on, Gav.” The short man, Danny, smacked the back of his hand against the taller man’s gut. “Let’s get what we came for.”

As the three men disappeared through the door, Rose lost herself back in her whiskey. Well, so much for conversation. Just as well. She’d never been the chatty sort, anyway.

Less than a minute later, the EMPLOYEES ONLY door swung open again. Danny reappeared, adjusting his red blazer around his portly frame. He looked around a second, and when he spotted Rose, he flashed a smile and waddled over to her. “Well, well, how’s it going?”

Rose nearly choked on her whiskey. Oh fucking wonderful. Did she really have to deal with some old slimeball trying to hit on her? “Not interested, pal. Turn around and keep it in your pants.”

“Whoa, hey, no, you got the wrong idea,” Danny insisted, as he hopped up onto the barstool next to her. “My buddy Tommy was just saying he’d been talking to someone with some money problems. Thought maybe you’d like a chance to earn some cash.”

Lowering her glass, she gave the man a long, close glare. “What, you offering me a job? You’ve known me for all of ten seconds.”

“Let’s just say my boss is always keeping an eye out for some extra help, and you seem like just the kind of person he’s looking for.”

“What, female, or just desperate?”

Danny snickered, leaning back on his barstool. “Maybe a bit of both, yeah? If you’re interested, I can put in a word.”

Rose gave a deep frown, slowly turning in her seat to face the man. “You’re not some kind of pimp, are you?”

His snickers snowballed into loud, boisterous laughter, which soon turned to a fit of high pitched wheezing. He waved her off and rubbed his eyes, wiping at the tears starting to form. “Ha, a pimp! That’s a good one. No, no, nothing like that.”

“Then what kind of work is this?”

When he’d calmed himself to the point he could speak without breaking into fits, Danny made a passing gesture to her arms. “Nothing unseemly, I assure you. But I can tell by looking at you—” He made a passing gesture to her arms. Even beneath the leather of her jacket, her muscles filled out the sleeves close to bursting. “—you know how to handle yourself.”

Rose eased her posture, setting her elbow against the counter. Manual labor, huh? Alright, maybe that wasn’t so terrible. Probably the only kind of work that suited her.

“Here, let me give you my card.” Danny fished around inside his blazer a moment and pulled out a small business card from the pocket. He passed it to her, holding it out between two fingers. “Give me a call if you’re interested.”

Rose took the card. _Daggett Industries_ was scrawled across the front in large gold lettering. She flipped it over, finding the name Daniel Costello on the back, along with a phone number and email address. As she read the card. The EMPLOYEES ONLY door swung open again. Gavin and Tommy strolled out, both carrying a pair of small wooden crates. Danny turned to them with a way.

“Well, looks like it’s time for me to head out,” he said, hopping off the barstool. “Maybe I’ll hear from you?”

“Sure…” Rose took another sip of whiskey, still studying the business card. “Maybe you will.”

* * *

If Dick Grayson and Rose Wilson were an odd pair, Batman and Ravager were plain bizarre. On the one hand, you had the Dark Knight—black cloak and cowl with pointed bat ears, and bulletproof batsuit with a Swiss army knife of gadgets strapped to the waist. Then there was Ravager—a scale mail body suit covered by a sleeveless dark unitard, with bright orange gloves and boots, and a cloth mask covering the top of her face and head, one half orange with a large white eyehole, the other half dark to cover her missing eye.

Then again, half the time Batman ran around with a kid dressed like a green and yellow bird, so what the fuck did she know?

Ravager lounged against the parapet of one of the many flat rooftops in Gotham’s East End, staring up at the night sky. Batman stood rigid next to her, gazing through a pair of high-tech binoculars. Oh, right— _bat_ noculars. Fucking bat puns.

“So,” she said, clacking the heel of her boots mindlessly against the roof, “where’s the brat?”

“Robin had a prior engagement.” Batman was always meant to have a deep, scary voice, but hearing the gruff tone coming out of who she knew was Dick underneath sent an awkward tingle through her neck. Modulated or not, it didn’t sound right. “He won’t be joining us.”

“Shame. Kinda missed him, ever since he left the Titans.” Probably for the best. Not even Damian would want to see her, in all likelihood. A few moments longer of staring at the sky and Ravager turned away, looking twenty feet below them at the warehouse loading dock they were supposed to be watching. “What’s it like being Batman, anyway?”

Batman lowered the batnoculars. “Different.”

“I’ll bet. Probably a lot more pressure, right?” He didn’t answer, instead lifting the batnoculars back to his eyes, so Ravager sighed and fell against the parapet with a bored grumble. “What are we doing here, anyway? Shouldn’t we be, I don’t know, roaming the city instead of sitting in one spot on a stakeout?”

“There have been reports lately about suspicious activity in this area.”

“Uh, isn’t this Gotham’s East End?” She gestured to the streets below. While most parts of Gotham weren’t exactly pretty, this neighborhood was a downright dumpster fire. The streets were filthy, sidewalks littered with trash and old abandoned cars stalled on the sides of the road. Half the buildings were boarded up or otherwise in disrepair, as though ready to collapse on a moment’s notice, and from their spot on the rooftop she could make out five different homeless people sleeping under draped blankets or cardboard boxes. Down one alley, she could see a group of shady individuals huddled around exchanging unidentified goods between them. Probably some kind of drug deal. “This entire place is _full_ of suspicious activity.”

Batman’s attention remained unwavering on the loading dock. “More suspicious than usual.

“Right,” she said, with a roll of her eye. “Well, you’re the expert, so whatever you say.”

Needing a way to pass the time, Ravager unsheathed one of the swords crossed over her back. She raised the blade and lowered her eye to it in careful examination. Within a few moments of inspection, she noticed a small smudge and scrubbed at it with her gloved thumb.

“You should consider less lethal weapons,” Batman said, without taking his eyes off the building.

Ravager scoffed. “Right, like bat-shaped shuriken are so much safer. One misplaced throw and whoops, you’ve punctured an artery and killed a guy.”

Batman remained stolid. “I don’t miss.”

“And neither do I.” She sheathed the sword again, then crossed her arms across her chest. “Trust me, I’ve had enough practice with these things to keep from killing someone.”

He answered with a low grunt, maintaining his watch. Damn stiff. That might be Dick Grayson under there, but something about that suit sucked all the damn joy out of whoever put it on. Leave it to the bat-freaks.

Ten minutes later, a windowless van rolled up outside the front of the loading dock. Several men in hooded jackets jumped out—one from the driver’s side, a second from the passenger’s, and four more from the back. They spoke in hushed tones, far too quiet to hear from the roof.

“You know, this kinda reminds me of when we were working together in Blüdhaven,” Ravager mused, only half paying attention to the men climbing onto the loading dock to open the doors. “Back when you were going by ‘Renegade,’ remember? Gotta say that costume looked a hell of a lot better than this one.” She let her gaze linger down towards batman’s backside, where his rear end should be. “Damn cape is blocking my view.”

And again, Batman ignored her. Lowering the batnoculars, he climbed onto the parapet and pulled out his grappling gun. “Get ready.”

Narrowing her gaze, she looked towards the loading dock. Then men were now hurriedly carrying out wooden crates to load into the back of the van. “What’s so suspicious about some guys packing up a van with boxes?”

“Do legitimate people load vans while armed with automatic pistols?”

Ravager blinked, focusing harder on the group. Indeed, two of the men at the top of the loading dock were both equipped with a mini uzi strapped over their shoulders. With a deadpan, she jumped onto the parapet to join him. “Shut up.”

“Attention to detail, Rose.” Batman reached into his utility belt, pulling out three small smoke pellets. “One of the first things I taught you. Or did you forget already?”

An uncharacteristic smirk cut across Batman’s jaw, as he tossed the smoke pellets down into the center of the group. The pellets hissed and spewed out a thick blanket of smoke over the entire front of the warehouse. When the men began hacking and coughing, stumbling around blind inside the cloud, Batman aimed his grappling gun at the opposite rooftop. With a mocking salute, he jumped off the building and swung expertly to the ground below, colliding feet first with one of the men carrying the uzis.

Ravager couldn’t help but grin. Now _there_ was that Grayson charm. She followed close behind, leaping clear off the edge of the building. While she didn’t have any fancy gadgets to make a cool entrance, she had one thing Batman didn’t have—badass super soldier enhancements.

The world rushed by her as she plummeted twenty feet towards the concrete below. With all the grace of an Olympic high diver, she twisted her body around and hit the ground in a controlled roll, instantly springing up to her feet with nary a scratch or bruise to show for the death defying display. As soon as she was on her feet, she sprinted into the smoke cloud, weaving back and forth between the panicked men with a vicious series of hand-to-hand strikes. She might have hit them a little harder than she needed to, but oh well. As long as they went down and stayed down, so what if they came away with a few broken bones?

When the smoke cleared, Ravager and Batman stood over five unconscious men. Batman took a moment to examine each of them, checking for vitals and making sure they stayed out. After seemingly satisfied, he stood up and made his way towards the van.

“Is this all you do every night?” Ravager held a hand in front of her mouth, giving an overdrawn, mocking yawn. “Piece of cake.”

Batman replied with a low sigh, as he went to open the van’s rear doors. “Let’s see what they were trying to move.”

The instant his hand touched the van door, a white flash pulsed into Ravager’s mind. Images followed, a rapid slideshow of possible outcomes firing through her consciousness. She saw the van, saw Batman opening the doors. A gunshot followed—a man waiting inside with a shotgun. Buckshot tore into Batman’s face, ripping his exposed jaw to pieces. He went down. Bleeding. Twitching.

The vision ended. She snapped back to her senses with a rushing inhale, just as Batman pulled open the doors. In a mad panic, she dashed forward and threw herself at him. “Get down!”

A shotgun blast tore into the night. Pain followed. Hot, searing, blasting straight through her armor into her shoulder beneath. She and Batman hit the ground in a thud, where she lay with grit teeth and a tirade of curses muttering beneath her breath. Batman rolled out from underneath her, but not before the sound of tires screeched forward. With the rear doors still wide open, the van took off away from the loading dock, several crates tumbling out the back onto the ground.

Batman knelt beside Ravager, holding out a hand to help her up. When they were both on their feet, he moved behind her to examine her shoulder. “Hold still. Let’s see it.”

Another hot web of pain shot across her backside. Warm ooze followed, dripping down her arm. “Careful! That fucking hurts!”

“Looks like your armor absorbed most of the damage, but we’ll have to get you back to the bunker so I can remove the buckshot and dress the wound.”

Rose grit her teeth harder, stifling down the pain. “Don't worry about me, really. I'll be fine.”

Crouching in front of one of the crates, Batman pulled off the lid and removed a small metal canister from within. “How did you know there was a gunman waiting in the van?”

"I'm a precog, remember? Saw it before it happened.”

Batman glanced up at her with a contemplative frown. “I thought your precognition only activated when _you_ were in danger.”

“Yeah...” she muttered, with a frown of her own. “So did I.”


	2. Gotham Nightmares #2: Odd Jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose takes up an odd job for cash, only to find it much shadier than anticipated. But then, this is Gotham. When is an odd job not shady?

Rose tensed her shoulder, as a sharp pain dug into her torn flesh. Wrapping her fingers around the edge of the examination table she was lying on, she tightened her jaw and suppressed the anguished groan bubbling in her throat. Couldn’t go letting him think it hurt that bad. With a metallic clink, a small metal pellet dropped into a bowl on the nearby table. Without missing a beat, Dick dug the tweezers back into her wound. Another sharp jolt, another suppressed groan.

To keep her mind off the pain, she focused on the room around her. They were at the top of a multi-leveled underground bunker deep beneath Wayne Tower—known as the Bat Bunker, because of fucking course it was—in a section that appeared to be half a research station and half a medical facility. Across the large open chamber, an enormous set of computer screens and other high tech equipment took up an entire wall. Somewhere on the level below them, she’d seen a training area and a garage for all Batman’s fancy vehicles. She’d never been to the original Batcave, but according to Dick this place was a suitable and convenient substitute.

“You really should consider upgrading your armor,” Dick said, fishing around with the tweezers. “A little Kevlar goes a long way. Maybe some Promethium mesh.”

A second metallic clink echoed from the bowl. “In case you haven’t noticed, some of us aren’t billionaires. Can’t exactly buy new shit whenever I need it.”

“Then maybe I can design you something myself?” 

The tweezers plunged inside her wound a third time, forcing Rose to lower her head against the table, fingers tightening around the edge again. “I don’t need any more of your charity. You’ve already done enough.”

“Rose, you literally took a bullet for me. It’s the least I can do.”

“Buckshot, technically.” The tweezers dug deep—deeper than before. She bit her tongue to keep from yelping. “But really, don’t worry about it. I’m not worth the effort.”

Dick paused his work. She could feel his stare boring into the back of her skull, but she didn’t turn to look at him. “Seriously, how do you expect people to care about you when you don’t even care about yourself?”

“Really, Grayson? A lecture?” Bastard could have at least pulled the tweezers out first. “Not what I need right now.”

The tweezers moved again, latching onto another pellet in her shoulder. “I’m just saying, you don’t give yourself enough credit. Sure, you can be obnoxious, self-loathing, a bit grating at times…”

Rose frowned, tapping her fingers against the table. “Well gee, don’t sugar coat it or anything.”

“But you’re still a much better person now than you used to be. The fact that you blame yourself for what happened with the Teen Titans shows how much you’ve matured.”

She puffed out a disbelieving scoff. “The hell are you talking about? What happened was _my_ fault. How could I _not_ blame myself?”

“But that’s what I mean.” Finally, mercifully, the tweezers withdrew from the wound, discarding another pellet into the bowl with that familiar metallic clink. “You made a mistake—a big mistake, admittedly—but there was a time when you would have blamed anything and anyone other than yourself. Now you’re owning up to it, taking responsibility. That’s the maturity I’m talking about.”

Rose sank against the table, listening to another metallic clink ring out form the bowl. Once more, the tweezers plunged into the wound. This time, she didn’t much feel the pain. She looked over the edge of the table, staring a hole into the floor until her vision blurred. When she heard another clink, she blinked her gaze clear again and sighed. 

“I don’t know,” she muttered. “Maybe.”

“My point is,” Dick continued, plucking out yet another pellet, “you’ve come a long way from the impulsive brat I met in Blüdhaven. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Proud of myself, right. Maybe when I’m not getting innocent people killed.”

The tweezers paused again. “Rose…”

“No, don’t. Please. Just don’t.” Sure, Dick could tell her how much she’d grown, how much she’d matured, and improved, and all that bullshit, but what did it matter? She was still a screw up. Still violent, and obnoxious. Still made the worst kinds of mistakes, no matter how hard she tried. Feeling bad about it didn’t make it better. “Doesn’t change what happened. In the end, I still have to live with it.”

“It’s not a crime to forgive yourself.”

Rose said nothing. Forgive herself? Fat fucking chance of that. Easy for him to say, Mr. Hero. Mr. Perfect. Mr. Dark-goddamn-Knight. 

A jolt of pain fired through her thoughts. Right, the tweezers again. Good. Maybe she could focus on that, instead of how much of a failure she was. Maybe Dick would just shut up and work.

“So,” he said, dropping another pellet into the bowl. So much for keeping quiet. “Was that the first time your precognition ever triggered for someone else?”

Well, at least he was changing the subject. With a musing hum, she replied, “For the most part. Usually only triggers when something’s about to happen to me. The first time it activated was different—had a full blown vision of a possible future, I think. Could even project myself into people and take control of them, sort of like Joey. But then, I was in a coma at the time. Probably just some trippy dream.”

Dick dug in the tweezers so deep, Rose spasmed with a sudden lurch of pain. He paused a moment, continuing once she settled. “I see. That’s actually pretty interesting.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s possible your ability is evolving somehow. Getting stronger.”

“Huh, maybe.” Rose creased her brow in thought. Her precog, getting more powerful? Suppose that wouldn’t be the worst thing. Actually might be pretty sweet if she could see further into the future. Either that, or fucking annoying.

Dick removed the tweezers with another pellet, dropping it into the bowl to join the others. “How is Joey, by the way? Haven’t heard from him in a while.”

Rose grumbled at the question, puffing out a breath of air to blow her bangs away from her eye. Dick wasn’t the only one who hadn’t heard from her brother in fuck knows how long. “Not sure. Last I saw him, he left with our dad with the dumb idea that Slade could change and we could start over as a real family or some shit. Fat chance. You’d have better odds trying to outrun the Flash.”

The mention of Slade drew out a long, deep hum of thought from the man working on her shoulder. No comments, though. No words. Not surprising, really. The original Batman had had the Joker. Dick had always had Slade. Deathstroke, the world’s deadliest assassin. Rose’s bastard of a father.

“You almost done back there?” she said, tilting a glance over her shoulder. Probably best to steer the conversation away from her fucked up family. “Or do you just enjoy looking at my backside that much?”

“Just about, last one,” he said, easing the tweezers at a sharp angle. A second later, he removed them and deposited one more pellet into the bowl. Dick took a moment to clean the wound with a wet cloth and soap. Once clean, he sutured it closed and strapped an adhesive gauze pad over her shoulder. “Should be all set. Just try to take it easy for a while.”

“Please, I’ve always been a fast healer.” Rose sat up on the table, keeping her back turned to him until she’d slipped her sports bra back on. Pulling up the rest of her costume back into place, she shifted on the table to face him. Dick stood there still dressed in the Batsuit, with the cowl pulled off to expose his face. She flashed him a grin. “One of the perks of being a super soldier. Give it a couple days, I’ll be good as new.”

“Anyway, stay here and recover for now.” Dick took a moment to clean up his medical tools before pulling the cowl over his head. “You can take the lift back to the penthouse.”

“And where are you going?”

A low hum rumbled out from the neck of the suit, as Dick’s voice took on the deeper, gruffer tone of Batman. “I need to run a chemical analysis on the canister we recovered earlier, then I’m heading back out. Night is only half over.”

She fired back a frown at him, hopping off the table. “I’m injured, you know. Not crippled. I can still help.”

“I’ll be fine. Just take it easy for now and get your rest.”

With a dull sigh, Rose grabbed her mask and swords. “Fine, whatever. I’ll be here when you get back.”

“See you later, then.” He gave a nod and started towards a set of stairs leading down to the next level of the bunker. Partway there, he paused and looked back over his shoulder. “Oh, and Rose, don’t touch anything.”

Rose scoffed, planting her arms firmly across her chest as the form of Batman disappeared down the stairs. “’Don’t touch anything.’ Like I’m a freaking child.” She turned a look towards the set of massive computer monitors, noting the numerous buttons and keypads on the console below it. One of those buttons happened to be blinking with a steady, pulsing green light. With a devilish smirk, she made her way towards it. “Hmm, wonder what that does.”

* * *

Rose slowed her motorcycle as the warehouse came into view. It was a filthy place, not much different than East End from last night. Graffiti littered the building’s walls, and several large mounds of trash bags full to bursting piled out front on the sidewalk. Across the street, an old man in a hoodie stood by a lamppost smoking a cigarette and teetering on his feet. Not the best neighborhood.

Several gold-plated numbers were drilled in above the main entrance, an unassuming pair of metal doors on the side of the building. Definitely the right address. Probably shouldn’t be here, though. Common sense would keep most normal people from going alone to a shady-ass warehouse in the middle of the most crime-ridden city in the country, but then common sense had never been high on her priority list. Besides, she needed the cash, and Danny had been all too eager for her to come down and start immediately when she’d called him that morning. 

As she pulled into the tiny parking lot outside the large metal doors, she noticed a table set up outside. Three men were sitting at the table, two of them smoking what looked like blunts, the third dealing a hand of cards to each of them. The moment the rumble of her bike’s engine veered towards them, they stopped to stare at her.

Rose cut the engine. Before removing her helmet, she took a second to look over the men. Attention to detail, and all that. On one of them, she noted a small bulge poking out the back of his shirt, near the waistline of his pants. Definitely a gun. Chances were, all three of them were armed. Yup, about as shady as she would have expected. If this was legitimate work, she’d swallow her own swords.

“Hey, who the fuck are you?” said one of the men, standing from the table. He reached one hand slowly behind himself, under his shirt.

“Relax, pal.” She finally removed her helmet, pausing a moment to straighten out her hair before getting off her bike. “I’m here for the job.”

“Easy, Hank,” said another of the men, this one wearing a plaid shirt with some kind of greasy stains across the front. “She matches the description Danny gave us. How many white haired, one-eyed broads you seen before?”

The third man, a stooped fellow with a large bald patch at the top of his head, shot a lecherous grin her way. “Especially one with that kind of body.”

“Alright, cool your jets,” she said, meeting the man’s leering with a death-glare. “Just somebody let Danny know I’m here before I lose my patience.”

The one called Hank uttered a dull grunt and headed for the doors. “I’ll grab him.”

When Hank was gone, the balding man took the deck of cards and began shuffling them. He chuckled, flashing another disgusting grin. “So, ever play strip poker?”

Rose’s eye twitched. For fucking real? “I swear to hell, I will rip those lips off your face if you smirk at me again, got it?”

Color drained from the man’s face, and he shifted back to his cards. His buddy with the plaid shirt snorted a laugh under his breath, muttering something about his friend being an idiot. Several minutes of awkward silence later, the metal doors slid open once again. Hank returned to the table, followed by a familiar portly man with the same red blazer he’d been wearing yesterday.

“Aha, if it isn’t my new favorite employee!” Danny said, holding out his hand to shake. “Gotta say, didn’t expect you to call so soon.”

“Well, you said it yourself.” Rose tentatively shook the man’s hand, only to immediately pull it back and wipe her palm on her jeans when she felt the moisture oozing through her fingers. How the hell could anyone’s hands be that sweaty? “I got money problems.” 

“Right, sure, sure. Come on, follow me and I’ll show you around.” Danny waved her along, waddling his way back through the entryway. Rose gave a parting glare to the men at the table and followed. “Good timing, though. Just recently lost a few guys.”

They turned the corner of a corridor into an open floor with rows of metal shelves stacked from floor to ceiling. Rose gave the place a careful scan. Looked like a typical storage warehouse. Several men in forklifts drove by, moving various crates and pallets from the shelves. Nothing nefarious—yet. “Lost a few guys how, exactly?”

“Oh, uh, nothing to worry about. Typical workplace accidents. Standard hazards, you understand.” Danny led her into a narrow hallway, with plain white walls and a few open doors leading into small offices. “You just gotta worry about your own job.”

“And what _is_ my job?”

“We got a delivery going out soon. Lot of boxes to move. Think you can handle a little heavy lifting?”

Rose scoffed, flexing her arms beneath her leather jacket. “Not a problem.” 

“Perfect!” he proclaimed, giving her a firm smack on the shoulder. “You’ll fit in just great around here, I got a good feeling.”

A brief stab of pain raced through her backside, but she ignored it. The wound might still be fresh, but it had already mostly healed. Another one of the perks of her super soldier enhancements: accelerated healing. A broken bone, she could heal in a matter of days. A simple cut, maybe a couple hours. The gunshot would probably be gone by tonight.

As Danny turned into a secondary hallway, Rose gave a careful look into each of the offices they passed. Quite a few, but not a single one with anyone working in them. No office supplies, either. No computers, no papers posted to the walls, not even a damned stapler. Blank, empty, and unused. “So, judging from your card, you work for Daggett Industries?”

“That’s right,” he said, in an almost unsettlingly chipper tone. “Right underneath Mr. Daggett himself. Right now, I oversee all aspects of this operation, make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“What kind of operation?”

“Ah, well Mr. Daggett’s made a very special order. I make sure the supplier gets everything he needs.”

Rose narrowed a suspicious glare at the back of the man’s head, following him deeper through the warehouse. “If you’re the ones making the order, why are you also making the delivery?”

“It’s a fairly unique kind of order, you see. The materials are hard to come by, but Daggett Industries happens to have everything the supplier needs. We send him the parts, he makes the product, and we buy it back at a discount. Simple.”

“Why not just hire this guy to work for you directly?”

Danny pushed open a heavy door, bathing the mouth of the hallway with a warm glow of sunlight as he stepped out into a loading dock at the rear of the building. A large box truck sat in front of an open loading bay, the rear door open. A tall, lanky man wearing a dark blue turtleneck moved boxes down from the dock and placed them in the back of the truck.

“The supplier was extremely particular about not being tied to big business, so this is how we gotta do it. But whatever, I don’t get paid to question people’s preferences. Now, you remember Gavin?”

Rose gave the man in the turtleneck a close look, recognition dawning on her as the guy who had accompanied Danny yesterday to the bar. She gave him a half-hearted wave. “Yo.”

“Alright, so you help Gavin finish loading the truck, and go with him to unload the delivery,” Danny said. “When you’re done, you come back here and we’ll find something else for you to do. You’ll get your pay at the end of the day—all cash. Sound good?”

Heading towards the stack of wooden boxes, Rose lifted one into her grasp and marched it towards the truck. The sound of something metallic jangled inside, as she carried it. “Works for me.”

Danny gave a parting wave and disappeared inside the warehouse. Gavin didn’t say a word while they loaded the truck, leaving Rose to her own thoughts. So, some bigshot company was providing a mystery supplier with special materials to create a unique product the company didn’t know how to make themselves, and were paying anyone they could scrounge up under the table to help move along the operation? Oh yeah, this reeked of bad news. But if not for cash, might as well tag along and see what she could uncover. Batman wasn’t the only one who could do some damn detective work.

When they loaded the last box into the truck, Gavin pulled down the sliding door and locked it in place. He made his way around to the driver’s side, and Rose joined him in the passenger’s. Shifting the truck into gear, Gavin drove them away from the warehouse out into the decrepit streets of Gotham City.

“So,” Rose said, leaning elbow against the window, “pretty important delivery, huh? What kind of stuff you moving?”

Gavin responded with a barely audible grunt.

“Now big on conversation, I take it?”

Another grunt. Fine by her. She didn’t need this guy asking questions about her. Gave her the chance to focus. Whatever operation this was, no way was it legal. If she uncovered anything, she could pass it along to Dick too, show him she still knew what she was doing. What better “thank you” for letting her stay at his place than exposing some kind of criminal operation Batman could come in and bust?

* * *

Thirty minutes later, the truck pulled up outside a rusted chain link fence surrounding an old factory. The place looked abandoned, most windows of the main building either broken or boarded, and heavy chains padlocked across the front doors. The large smoke stacks stood inactive, a row of looming, derelict spires leering down at her. At the top of the factory, a set of large letters spelled out what she assumed was ACE CHEMICALS, although a few of the letters had fallen out of place, leaving gaps in the words.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say this place was shut down,” she said, giving Gavin side-eyed glance. 

Still, Gavin said nothing, instead climbing out of the truck to pull open the front gate of the property. With the way clear, he climbed back into the truck and drove forward. He parked around the back of the building, outside another chain fence surrounding a small door and a set of electrical panels. Several signs plastered the fence, warning of electrical hazards. A lot of good they did warning people away, as a clear, open gap had been cut into the fence, allowing access to the door.

Gavin exited the truck. “Wait here.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, watching him make his way towards the back entrance. “Oh, so now you talk.”

Gavin pounded on the door, then stood back and waited. The door swung open moments later, revealing a broad, well-muscled man wearing a tight green sweater. Rose shifted in her seat, craning her head for a better look. She noticed a strap running over the broad man’s shoulder, and lo and behold, it was connected to an uzi at his hip. Surprise, surprise.

The two men exchanged words a brief moment, before the the one carrying the uzi nodded and headed back inside. Gavin hurried back to the truck and waved for Rose to get out. “Come. We bring the boxes inside and leave them. No questions.”

“No questions,” Rose repeated, unbuckling her seatbelt. “Right.”

Rose carried her first crate and followed Gavin through the door. No sooner than they’d entered, the muscled man from before showed up to follow them, along with a second man. They both carried uzis, and both weapons were at the ready. Whatever was going on here, these goons weren’t taking any chances. But no questions, so she kept her attention forward as they entered the main processing facility.

This chemical plant might have been shut down, but someone had decided to set up shop. A team of men wearing coveralls, rubber gloves, safety goggles, and breathing masks worked around several large vats. Some of the workers poured various liquids into the top of the vats, while others monitored the pumps and hoses, or carried buckets of other unknown chemicals for processing. 

One man tripped on his way down a set of metal steps from the catwalk above, spilling open the container he’d been carrying. A splash of yellow liquid flooded through the gaps in the steps onto the floor below, while he yelled for people to get out of the way. A cleanup crew rushed over to help. Throughout all this, several more armed men patrolled the catwalks, watching the workers down below.

Yeah, totally not suspicious at all.

Gavin led the way towards the back of the facility and set down his box next to an isolated wall, far away from the work. “Set them here.”

Rose followed his lead, stacking her box on top of his.

“Make sure to stack them neatly this time,” said the broad man watching them. He adjusted his uzi, making sure to keep it trained on them. “Don’t want any accidents like last time.”

“Not to worry,” Gavin said, with a flippant wave of his hand. “We’ll be careful.”

The armed man grunted, turning a quick glance above him. “Good, because the boss is watching.”

Rose followed the man’s gaze up towards one of the catwalks above them. There, she spotted a thin, lanky silhouette leaning with his hands against the railing. Dark shadows concealed any notable features he might have had, but judging from the angle of his head, he was watching them. She stared straight back.

“Let’s go,” Gavin called, already halfway back across the floor. “We got a lot of boxes to move.”

With one more fleeting glance at the shadowed figure, Rose turned away and followed. Well, then. Looks like she had some investigating to do tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mostly more character moments at the start, and then some set up for what really gets this story arc going. Definitely some action coming in the next chapter, I promise.


	3. Gotham Nightmares #3: Fear Lies Within

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager investigates a shady operation, hoping to prove she can still do some good. In the process, she comes face to face with her worst nightmares.

Getting inside had been easy enough. For all the care they’d taken to chain the entrance and guard the doors, these goons had neglected to block off the broken windows on the second floor of the Ace Chemicals building. To be fair, they couldn’t have reasonably expected an enhanced metahuman to scale up the side of the factory with all the ease of a child climbing a jungle gym. In the dead of night, Ravager slipped inside unnoticed, landing in an old office.

Creeping up to the office door, she cracked it open. She paused and listened. No sound, other than the occasional creaking of old pipes, and the rush of wind blowing in through the busted window behind her. Certainly no patrolling guards. She glanced both ways down the hallway on the other side of the door. Even in the dim light, her sharpened senses picked up every fine detail. Empty, all clear.

Ravager crouched low and moved swiftly through the shadows, towards a set of double doors at the end of the corridor. While stealth wasn’t exactly something she specialized in the way Batman did, she did well enough when she had to. Couldn’t go being seen now, either. No backup if she got caught. Alright, so maybe she should have told Dick where she was going, but then he’d want to go with her. What a waste that would be. There were plenty of other crimes going on in Gotham he could be solving, and this was something she could handle herself.

When she arrived at the double doors, she peered in through the narrow glass windows. Beyond the doors lay a series of catwalks in the upper levels of the central processing facility, where she and Gavin had unloaded the boxes earlier that day. Good, she had the right place. Now to get down there without being seen. With a cursory glance around the processing center, she counted three armed guards patrolling the catwalks. While she couldn’t see much of the floor below, more guards would be down there, no doubt.

Cautiously, she eased open the double doors and crept onto the catwalk beyond. The doors made tiny, quiet squeaks on their old hinges, but going slow enough she kept the noise down enough that none of the guards seemed to notice. They continued their patrol along the catwalks, none the wiser. 

Ravager peered over the edge of the catwalk. A row of vats, pumps, and hoses cluttered the floor below, and other than a few dim lights glowing from various machines the facility was dark, offering numerous places to hide and move about unseen. For the same reason, she had no way of telling how many guards might be down there, but at a glance she noticed one man disappearing around the closest vat to her, and a second three rows down. No chemical workers, though. Must have gone home for the night.

Alright, time to move. In a single bound, Ravager leaped off the end of the catwalk onto the floor below. She landed in a crouch, so light on her boots she didn’t make a sound. At least, not one loud enough for anyone to hear. Poor, dumb thugs, trying to work in this city. Nothing but fodder for Batman. Or Ravager, in this case.

She skulked around the side of a chemical vat, pressing her back to it. The dull sound of footsteps drew nearer. Fifteen feet away. Ten feet. Five feet. As soon as the footsteps rounded the side of the vat, she sprang out and whirled around behind the man. Before he could so much as utter a surprised yelp, she wrapped her arm around his throat. The guard sputtered and struggled, but in her iron grip the only sounds that came out were quiet whispers of panic. Within seconds, he fell slack in her grasp.

Ravager dragged the man deeper into the shadows and checked for a pulse. Still alive, good. Finding a balance between her metahuman strength and the amount of force a normal mook could take was tricky sometimes. Didn’t want to go crushing some dude’s windpipe when she just wanted to put him to sleep for a little while.

On her way through the maze of chemical tanks, she encountered two more patrolling guards. She took them out in the same manner, dragging them away quietly into the shadows. With any luck, no one would find them until after she was long gone. Around the corner of a blank partition, a stack of wooden boxes greeted her. _There_ they were. She gave another quick looked around and above—no one in sight. Let it stay that way.

Kneeling in front of one of the boxes, she carefully removed the lid and set it to the side. Her gaze narrowed at the contents—nine separate metal canisters, each separated in its own compartment inside the box. She frowned, pulling out one of the torpedo-shaped canisters for a better look. Some kind of liquid sloshed around within. There was a small valve at one end, the only possible opening she could see, as well as a warning label that included a skull-and-crossbones and a giant red exclamation point. Oh yeah, talk about fucking shady.

Interesting, though. These were the same sorts of canisters she and Batman had discovered last night. Which meant both operations were connected. Probably a secondary shipping location, to supply whatever these chemicals were to whoever was using this Ace facility. But what was it? And what the hell were they making it for?

“Hey! Who the fuck are you!”

Ravager snapped a look behind her, where she spotted an armed henchman standing with his machine pistol trained on her. Well, fuck. And here she thought she’d been stealthy. A white flash pulsed through her mind, but she didn’t need the precog to know to get the fuck away. She darted into the shadows, around the side of the partition towards the chemical vats. Half a second later, the sound of gunfire exploded through the facility.

“Whoa, whoa, the fuck are you doing!” called a second voice from the catwalks above. 

“It’s one of those costumed freaks!” answered the guard down below. “Probably working for the Bat!”

“Oh, _shit.”_ The guard raised his weapon and hurried down the catwalk. “Alright, everyone spread out! But be fucking careful, you do _not_ want to shoot those tanks!”

Ravager watched the three guards above on the catwalks sprint towards the stairs leading down to the floor. The other, she heard racing to follow where she’d run off to. Another set of footsteps raced in from behind her. She kept moving, weaving her way through the vats and pumps. If they were that worried about damaging the tanks, maybe they’d be less inclined to fire at her down here.

When she was fully out of sight, she slowed up and crept slower, peering around corners as she went. True to their word, the guards had spread out to cover more ground. Idiots. Trying to split up to find her? Could at least give her a challenge. Batman was bad enough, but these goons were about to get first hand experience how a methuman with precognition and a bad attitude operated.

One by one, she pounced from the shadows. The first, she subdued with a standard choke hold. Like the others she’d choked out, he fell limp in seconds. As she discarded him to the floor, a second guard rounded the corner with his gun raised. He managed a panicked yell before she rushed him, driving her palm square into his nose. Blood sprayed from the impact. He fell backward, firing off a few random shots at the ceiling. A second blow to the back of the head dropped him unmoving to the floor.

Two more guards came running toward the commotion. Ravager backed into the darkness before they appeared, leaving them to curse and shout at each other when they discovered their unconscious buddies. They kept back-to-back, sweeping their guns back and forth as they slowly made their way through the maze of chemical vats.

Ravager climbed one of the tanks and leaped onto the catwalk above. Following the same momentum, she kicked off the railing, somersaulted through the air, and plummeted straight down at the man in front. Her boots met his shoulders. He grunted and dropped to the floor, prompting the other guard to spin around. His face spun straight into her fist. Two additional jabs crumpled him into a motionless heap. As the other man tried to roll out from beneath her, Ravager knelt down and chopped the side of her hand atop the crown of his skull. With an incomprehensible sputter, he fell limp.

Four down. Only one more to go. 

The remaining guard stumbled between a pair of tanks, half-tripping over a row of hoses. He yelped, swinging his gun around wildly for any sign of her. “Guys? You there? Shit, come on, someone answer me!”

Ravager sighed, slipping back into the shadows. Fucking idiot. Whirling out from behind one of the vats, she battered the man across the face with the heel of her boot. He tumbled backward, crashed his head against the pump behind him, and spun to the floor. And that was everyone.

“Should have just done that from the start,” she mused, heading back to the sack of boxes. “This Dark Knight stuff is easy.”

As she knelt down to reinspect the canisters, another white flash of images pulsed through her mind. She saw the metal pipe coming and spun around, lashing out a hand to catch it before it could bash into her skull. “Sneaking up on me? Don’t even think—”

A cloud of green mist exploded in her face, cutting off her sentence with a series of sputtered coughs. Fire raced through her nostrils, burning all the way down her throat. Water filled her eye. She blinked in a desperate attempt to clear her vision, but a flood poured out beneath her mask down her cheeks. She reached a gloved finger under her mask and tried to wipe it dry, but the same burning raced into her skull.

“The fuck!” she said, stumbling backwards.

A grating, horrifying voice slithered through the darkness. “That’s right, take a deep breath for me. Let the fear consume you.”

Ravager choked on her own saliva. The mere sound of the voice caused her heart to thud faster, lifting into the pit of her throat. She wiped her eye again and looked to where the voice had come from, straining her vision through a quivering wet mist. The knot in her throat tightened.

A looming figure stood before her. The being looked made of straw, with a face of burlap and a hideous, twisted scowl stitched across it beneath two eyes of dark coal. Ragged robes clung loosely to his stretched, gangly form, and he carried a crooked wooden cane in one hand. The other hand reached forward, fingers tipped with long, pointed needles. The figure cackled, and his stitched mouth split open with an outpouring of writhing maggots and centipedes. 

Ravager’s breath caught in her throat. She stumbled into the vat behind her, back pressed tight against it as though she could sink into the metal and disappear. The entire room quivered, squirmed. Were those _cockroaches_ skittering along the walls? And the floor… Thick pools of blood spread out before her, flooding across the entire facility. Crimson droplets rained upward towards the ceiling, gravity be damned. The straw figure stepped through the ichor, needled hand splayed and ready to strike.

“W-who the fuck are you?” she said, an unwitting tremble in her voice. _“What_ are you?”

“Who am I?” Another horrific cackle bellowed out the figure’s maggotty mouth. “I’m all the things you fear most in the world, little girl. I am every single one of your nightmares rolled into one.”

_Crack._

The figure’s wooden cane battered the side of her jaw. Ravager sank to one knee, colors spinning through her vision. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why the hell couldn’t she move?

“I am the _Scarecrow!”_ Another wave of maggots poured from the stitched mouth. “Tell me, little girl, are you afraid?”

She _shouldn’t_ be afraid. She’d faced far worse things than this before and always gone in swinging, ready to fight. So then why were her breaths so short and rapid? Why did a wave of ice cold goosebumps tingle across her arms? And why did her heart want to leap out of her throat? Another wet streak flooded from her eye.

Tears. The terror had her in _tears_.

A second blow cracked into the side of her head. She stumbled on her knee, almost toppling, but remained upright. She’d seen the attack coming. Should have been able to dodge. To get out of the fucking way. The harder she tried to move, the tighter her body locked up. The faster her heart raced. 

The cane struck her a third time, this time square in her injured shoulder. Even almost healed, a warm ooze leaked out beneath her armor, spreading down her arm with a race of sharp, stabbing agony. She yelled and collapsed to the floor, curled into a ball and clutching at her shoulder. Nausea bubbled into her gut.

“What did you think would happen? That you'd waltz in here and expose my operation without consequence?” The Scarecrow lurched forward, his gangly straw limbs cracking and twisting at unnatural angles. He brought the cane down again, striking Ravager across the back. “I haven’t seen you before. Must be new to Gotham, so allow me to show you how things work around here!”

He raised a boot and stomped. The blow crashed atop her shoulder, eliciting another spurt of blood beneath her armor, and another numb explosion at the edge of her throat. She screamed, crawling across the floor one inch at a time. A white flash of precognition fired through her senses, followed by a second white flash, this one exploding in front of her eyes as the cane smacked her in the temple. The world spun.

“Tell me,” the Scarecrow said, with a guttural chortle. “On a scale of one to ten, how do you feel?”

She had to move. Had to fight back. Had to do _something_. This nightmare was killing her! As tough as her meta body was, even she couldn’t endure this kind of beating for long. The Scarecrow’s cane might look like wood, but the way it impacted—more like steel.

The Scarecrow raised the cane in both hands. A mad, twisted cackle rumbled out his mouth, complete with skittering centipedes wriggling through the stitching. Another precognitive flash. Instinct drove Ravager into a desperate dive, rolling out of the way beneath a series of hoses behind a pump. Fuck, okay, that was a good start. It was just fear. She could beat it. Just fear. Just fear.

_Fight it!_

“Oh, looks like you still have some fight in you.” The Scarecrow raised a stretched leg over the hoses, joining her on the other side of the pump. “At least you’re making this interesting.”

The cane swung in again. Another flash. Another glimpse into the future. Ravager screamed, raising a hand to catch the wooden cane in her palm. In the same motion she threw herself at him with a wild haymaker, knuckles colliding square into his jaw. She felt solid flesh beneath her punch. Not straw. Blood and bone. The Scarecrow cried out in pain, tripping backwards over the hoses. He crashed to the floor and lost his grip on the cane; it scattered, ringing out with a metallic clanging. Not wooden. Not like it appeared.

Ravager held herself against a chemical vat, gasping for breath. She blinked, clearing one more flood of tears from her eye before everything shifted into and out of focus. Another blink, and the world cleared. The cockroaches on the walls were gone. The upwards raining blood was gone. And the figure lying on the floor clutching his face—not a monster made of straw. Just a man. A man wearing a dirty burlap mask on his head with a haphazardly stitched mouth, and a discarded steel pipe lying nearby.

“Ow, ow, ow! That hurts!” the man shrieked. Gone was the imposing, grating tone form before, replaced by a shrill, almost screechy voice.

“You’re no nightmare.” She stumbled back over the hoses, standing in front of the man. “Just some freak in a Halloween mask.”

A sharp pounding tore through her skull, and she couldn’t lift her left arm more than halfway, but she pushed through it. Time to teach this freak a lesson. She reached down and lifted him upright by the collar of his cheap coat. Oh, she was going to enjoy this.

“So, on a scale of one to ten,” she said, pulling him nose-to-nose, “how do you feel?”

“I feel like…” The Scarecrow's eyes blinked behind the burlap mask, his head cocking lazily to the side. He hiccuped, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “You need a larger dose!”

Something beneath the man’s sleeve popped. He held his arm forward, and a thicker, heavier cloud of mist exploded outward, enveloping Ravager’s entire head. She reeled backwards with a hacking cough, staggering away. A more intense burning sensation tore through her senses. Fuck, fuck, fuck! _No!_

She reached under her mask again to wipe at the water in her eye. When her vision blinked clear, the entire world had morphed into something monstrous. Enormous medical needles sprang out of the walls, dripping with a viscous, yellow fluid. Insects poured in rivers out of the chemical tanks. No longer simple cockroaches or maggots, they flew through the air and swarmed her with a constant, maddening drone that hammered deep into her skull. She lost focus, her vision blurring again. Through the swarm, a new figure appeared. Red skin and enormous leathery wings rushed forward, a twisted demon with curled horns and long white hair, spewing fire from its fanged maw.

“No…” she uttered, her voice scratching like nails on a chalkboard. She took a step backwards. The needles, the insects, the demon—they all rushed her in a single, cacophonous wave of terror. Spinning on her heels, she sprinted through the processing facility. “No, no, no, no!”

New horrors emerged the entire length of the building. Needles rained down at her from the ceiling—so many fucking needles. The droning insects wrapped over her in a disgusting, writhing cloud. They climbed into her mouth, her ears, crawled beneath her armor. They burrowed into her skin. They chewed, bit, clawed, tore her apart. The floor twisted and warped, taking on the appearance of fleshy, moaning faces beneath her boots.

Ravager lowered her shoulder and barreled into the main doors of the factory. Chain and padlock ruptured to pieces, giving way to the sweet, fresh night air. As soon as she sprinted into the open outside the building, the horrific visions chasing her vanished. She didn’t slow. She kept going, beyond the rusted chain link fence surrounding the property, down the road, and into the bushes where she’d stashed her motorcycle.

“Have to get out of here,” she said, through frantic, rapid breaths, as she pulled her bike free onto the road. She threw herself onto the seat, jammed the keys into the ignition, and revved the engine. “Have to go. Have to—”

“You’re not looking so good, Rose.”

Her heart froze. That familiar, oh so chilling voice sent ice screaming through her veins. But it couldn’t be… No way. With thunder pounding in her chest, she turned on the headlight. A figure stood there, standing in front of her with his arms folded tight across his muscled chest. The outfit he wore was similar to hers—scale armor with a black and orange color scheme, and a full mask over his head, one half orange with a white eye hole, the other dark, to signify his missing right eye. A bandolier of ammunition strapped across his chest, with two separate guns holstered at his hips. At his back, a long broadsword hung at the ready.

Deathstroke. Slade Wilson. Her father.

“No! No, you’re—you’re not here.” She squinted her eye shut and shook her head. “Just an illusion. A hallucination!”

“Then why so afraid?” 

Ravager opened her eye again, but her father hadn’t vanished like she’d hoped. Instead, he unfolded his arms and walked closer towards her. “I’m not… I’m not…”

Deathstroke’s mask shifted, giving way to a grin beneath his mask. Reaching into the belt at his waist, he pulled out a syringe with a long, pointed needle. “It’s time for your shot, Rose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, as promised last chapter, this one is way more intense! I didn't name this story arc Gotham Nightmares for nothing, as Rose now has to deal with her own terrifying hallucinations brought out by Scarecrow's fear gas. here's hoping she can fight through it and tell fiction from reality! Had more action than the first couple chapters as well, so hopefully that added a nice change of pace.


	4. Gotham Nightmares #4: Old Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager suffers through fear-gas induced hallucinations and nearly gets herself killed, only to be helped by an unlikely rival from her past.

Ravager swerved her motorcycle wildly through traffic, weaving between cars in a blur of lights and sound. Panicked drivers smashed their car horns at her, but they were a distant drone beyond the blood pumping between her ears. She chanced a look over her shoulder. No sign of her father. No sign of Deathstroke. Thank fuck. Apparently, not even a hallucination could keep pace with a souped-up bike racing at a hundred miles an hour down a busy highway.

Assuming he’d  _ been  _ a hallucination. She hadn’t exactly stuck around to find out, taking off like a bullet the instant he’d started towards her with that needle. That  _ fucking  _ needle. Another slideshow of images unfolded in her mind, but these weren’t of her impending future. These were her past, her time spent with her father as his apprentice. Or brainwashed minion, more like. The needles, the drugs, the manipulation—he’d never been above any of it. And Joey thought that man could change? What a fucking joke.

Ravager veered off the highway, racing towards an empty side street. A row of dark, dilapidated buildings greeted her. Not even a single street light in this neighborhood. She didn’t know where the fuck she was going, but it didn’t matter. As long as she got as far away from that nightmare as possible.

Another tingling pulse jittered through her skull. Her heart jumped in a panic. She shook her head clear, eye squinted shut. Come on, fight through it. Couldn’t let this shit keep getting to her. Just had to get away. When she opened her eye, a silhouetted figure stood in her path, rapidly approaching as her motorcycle raced straight at it. Seconds before impact, she saw the familiar, leering mask of black and orange, and the glint of scaled armor. Deathstroke raised a hand, syringe clutched in his grasp.

With a jolt, she yanked on her handlebars and screeched into an uncontrolled slide. The sudden shift in momentum launched her airborne. She screamed, and the world rushed by her. A dull crack of pain tore through her shoulder as she hit the ground. She bounced, tumbling into a roll until her body collided with a newspaper dispenser on the side of the road. The thick metal box dented inward, blasting dull agony through her entire body. When she finally fell to a stop, she lay there on the ground unmoving, fingers limply clawing at the pavement.

“Holy shit!” she heard a voice shout. “Did you see that?”

“Is she dead?” another replied.

A third voice joined in. “For Christ’s sake, someone call an ambulance!”

Ravager groaned, pushing her way to her hands and knees. Something popped in her left knee, but she swallowed her pain with a grunt. Couldn’t stop here. Had to keep going. Had to get away from him. And sure as hell couldn’t stick around for an ambulance to show up, not while she was in fucking costume.

“Wow, you really are pathetic.” The feminine voice was new, and yet familiar, the way it chided her. A tremble rippled through her fingers. 

“Do you ever get tired of being a failure?” Another familiar voice, this one male. The trembling in her fingers turned to uncontrolled spasms.

“Not now,” she uttered, with a slow, cautious look upward. “Please, not fucking now.”

But there they were: a blonde girl wearing a sparkling red bodysuit with a gold W emblazoned across the chest, a glowing red lasso hanging from her hip, and a dark-haired boy wearing a black and red costume, Batman-like in its design with a long cape, and a black domino mask on his face. Cassie Sandsmark and Tim Drake—Wonder Girl and Red Robin, her former teammates on the Teen Titans.

“I see you’re as worthless as ever,” said Wonder Girl, with a disgusted frown.

“Same waste of space as always,” Red Robin added.

“Shut up!” Ravager scrambled away, half-tripping as she tried to stand. Her knees quivered, but she maintained her balance enough to limp into an alleyway. “Just leave me alone!”

“Hey!” Wonder Girl called. “We’re not done with you yet!”

Ravager stumbled into the alley, half-running, half- hobbling as fast as her jellied legs would carry her. Fuck these hallucinations. Fuck this fear. And  _ fuck  _ the Scarecrow. She needed  _ out  _ of here! A dark shadow raced along one of the rooftops above her. She snapped a glance upwards to catch sight of it, but it had already vanished. Great, what phantom had come for her this time? Better not stick around to find out.

As she quickened her pace, her boot came down on a scattered glass bottle partially covered by a discarded newspaper. Balance swung out from beneath her. She lurched forward, unable to break her fall before crashing to the pavement on her stomach. Dull numbness exploded into her chest.

“There you go running away again,” said a gruff, scolding voice. Not Wonder Girl or Red Robin, but familiar all the same.

“You like to act tough, but you’ve always been a coward.” Another voice, this one also male but higher pitched, younger.

And then a third voice. “And reckless. And selfish.  _ Psychotic.” _

Ravager forced herself onto her elbows, lifting a blurred gaze towards the figures standing over her. The first was a muscled dark-haired teen with a square jaw, wearing a tight black T-shirt emblazoned with a Superman-style S. Connor Kent—Superboy. The second wore a white and red jumpsuit, no real defining features to it. His green skin and hair defined him well enough on their own. Garfield Logan—Beast Boy. And the third, a familiar speedster with a yellow and red bodysuit, and a mask that left his lower jaw and shaggy brown hair exposed. His freckles highlighted a youthful face. Bart Allen—Kid Flash. All three of them Teen Titans.

“It’s your fault, Rose,” said Beast Boy, an animalistic growl manifesting deep in his throat. Part of his face transformed, morphing into a wolf-like visage. “You got those hostages killed!”

Superboy concurred, shaking his head at her in disdain. “You ignored a blatant order, and look what happened!”

A swirl of dark shadow sparked into existence next to them. A dark-haired woman in an inky blue robe materialized in the alley, a long hooded cloak billowing around her form—Raven, yet another Titan. “We told you not to rush in, but you did anyway. Complete disregard for people’s safety.”

“How many people died because of you?” said Kid Flash, his form zipping around her in lightning-quick intervals. “There were children!”

Ravager crawled backwards, staring at her former teammates looming over her. Wonder Girl and Red Robin reappeared to join them. They followed, each of them continuing their beratement in a horrible cacophony of insults and contempt. And truth. Horrible, nauseating truth.

“I—I’m sorry,” she uttered, in a hoarse whisper. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t see—I didn’t think—I’m sorry!”

The disdainful chorus droned on, echoing deep into her skull. She turned around, tried to climb back to her feet. Her legs gave out. Collapsing onto the ground, she curled into a ball and planted her hands over her ears, desperate to drown out the nightmare.

High on the rooftops above her, the shadowed figure reappeared. Too far away and too much shadow to make out its details, but definitely there. Another hallucination. Another nightmare. Ravager squinted to get a better look, but water blurred her eye again. The figure repelled down the side of the building and ran towards her. if the figure said anything, she didn’t hear it. Her head pounded far too loud with the mocking chastisement from her form team, racing with a fire that threatened to split her skull in two. The last thing she remembered before losing herself in a swirl of inky blackness was the figure kneeling down to lift her into their arms, and a distinct blue bird against the chest of a black, armored combat suit.

* * *

Rose drifted into and out of consciousness that night. Never awake for more than a few moments, she heard voices talking through a muffled wall of syrup, a thousand miles away. She tried to move, tried to cry out, but every time she managed only to fall again into her dreams. Her nightmares.

They weren’t vivid, but the images flashed on repeat in her senseless mind enough to make her scream. Or she would have screamed, if she’d had a voice. Instead she could only watch, as the demented version of “This Is Your Life” played on loop to torment her. Every mistake she’d ever made, every horrible moment she’d ever experienced, all roaring back like a tidal wave.

She saw her mom. Lillian Worth. Cambodian Princess. Saw their journey out of Cambodia all the way to New York. Watched it all come crashing down again when Slade and his dirty past crashed into their lives. Watched her mom die.

And there was her bastard father again, dumping her with the Teen Titans, wanting nothing to do with her. Until he came back and drugged her, brainwashed her into being his good little soldier. Experienced every moment of pain, trauma, and disgust he’d ever put her through.

She relived her first real stint with the Teen Titans, as an actual member rather than just a burden to be looked after. She saw Kid Devil again—Eddie Bloomberg, the only damn person who might have ever really understood anything about her. And she saw herself screwing up, time and time again, until finally she’d pushed everyone so far away they were sick of her. Even Eddie, who’d decided not to leave with her. Eddie, who died throwing away his life for that damn team.

More memories raced forward. She’d come back to the Teen Titans, of course—where else did she have to go? But it didn’t last. It never lasted. Fuck up, after fuck up, after fuck up, until finally her tormented mind relived the moment three months ago when her life had come crashing down yet again.

She saw the bank. Saw the line of cop cars. The SWAT team. The snipers. Saw the hostage negotiator failing to talk down the gunmen. Heard them calling in the Teen Titans to handle things in the way only they could. And she heard the gunmen warn them about the bombs. Warn them not to come in. Heard Red Robin ordering her not to infiltrate the back entrance as planned.

But it was a bluff, wasn’t it? Of course it was a bluff. It  _ had  _ to be a bluff. So she’d ignored him, gone in anyway. There were people in there who needed saving, after all.  _ Children  _ who needed saving. People who died when the building exploded.  _ Children  _ who died when the building exploded. And so would have she, if that dumb speedster hadn’t come in to save her. Should have left her there. Should have let her die. Shouldn’t have ended up in the hospital over her stupid, reckless mistake.

The images faded again, only to once again replay from the start. Over and over. Without pause. Without relent. She screamed again, her empty, voiceless scream. End it all. Please. Whatever higher power there was, just have mercy and end it all.

* * *

Rose bolted upright with a startled gasp, chest heaving. Thick beads of sweat rolled down her forehead. When her breathing steadied, she stole a wild look around the room. Bright screens and computer monitors greeted her, surrounded by medical equipment. But not a hospital. One look at the high open ceiling above her, and the giant research station on the other side of the chamber told her as much. She hissed a sigh of relief. Back in that Bat Bunker, safe and sound.

She looked down at herself. She was in a bed, or rather some kind of cot, covered up to her midsection with a white blanket. Her costume was gone, replaced by nothing but a set of compression bandages wrapped across her chest and torso. Pulling back the blanket revealed she was naked except for her underwear and another heavy roll of bandages around her left knee. Well, at least someone had taken the time to patch her up.

“Good, you’re awake,” said a voice from behind her.

Looking towards the voice, she noticed Dick standing there, dressed up in the Batsuit with the cowl pulled down. No mask to hide that heated glare of his. She frowned at him. “So, you finally get me out of my pants, and I’m not even awake for it. Figures.”

“What were you doing tonight?” he said, the sternness of his tone unflinching.

“Right to business, huh? No fun at all, I swear.”

Pulling up a chair to the side of the cot, Dick sat down and glared harder. “What happened to you tonight, Rose?”

She gave a half-hearted shrug. “Just got a bit roughed up. No big deal.”

“A bit roughed up? You had the life half beaten out of you! It’s a miracle you’re not in a coma, let alone sitting up and talking. What the  _ hell  _ happened?”

Rose grumbled, huffing out in annoyance. Guy just didn’t know when to drop it, did he? “Fine, you wanna know that bad? I was  _ investigating _ . These guys are running a shady as fuck operation down at the old Ace Chemicals building, so I decided to check it out. Turns out, it’s connected with those guys we busted last night.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “And you didn’t think to tell me about it? I could have helped you!”

Again, she shrugged. “I knew I could handle it.”

“Clearly, you couldn’t! You nearly got yourself  _ killed!” _

“And so what if I did!” She snapped at him, vitriol pouring from her words. Fucking hell, why couldn’t he take a hint? He didn’t understand. No one fucking did. “What the hell do you even care?”

“Damn it, Rose, would you  _ stop  _ it with that!” Dick bolted out of the seat, standing at his full height. His brow grew cross, darkening a shadow over his eyes. “You don’t get it, do you? You’re so convinced everyone hates you because of your mistakes, you don’t even care what happens to you anymore. You’re so eager to prove your worth that it puts yourself and others at risk.  _ That’s  _ why the Titans are so angry at you! If you weren’t too busy being such a self-loathing child all the time, you might realize there are people who care about you!”

Rose’s gut knotted. Dick had gotten annoyed with her over the years the same as anyone else, for sure. Even goody two-shoes Grasyon could only put up with her antics for so long. But she’d never heard that kind of anger from him before. That kind of utter disappointment. It shook something in her, and for the life of her she couldn’t come up with a witty retort. She just sat there, head hanging with her arms wrapped around herself.

With a sniffle, she whispered back at him, “So what, you’re saying you  _ actually  _ care about me?”

His face relaxed, and the tone in his voice softened. Back to typical warm-hearted Grayson. “Believe it or not, yes. I do. You’re a good person, Rose, and you do a lot of good, no matter the mistakes you’ve made. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Well, that made someone. She managed an acknowledging nod of her head, but didn’t say anything. Instead, she let her gaze waver towards the floor. With a sigh, Dick paced around the cot and stood in front of a tray table to clean up a set of medical tools.

“You know, you were lucky tonight,” he said. “If Nightwing hadn’t found you while on patrol, the damage could have been a lot worse.”

Rose snapped back to attention, shooting him a puzzled glare. “Wait a second, there’s a new Nightwing?” Last she’d heard, the Nightwing identity had been retired after Dick took over as Batman. Damian was still Robin, and Tim was still Red Robin back with the Titans. And Jason Todd was still fucking around somewhere as Red Hood. But if that was the case, then who would Dick have given the blessing to take over the identity?

“There is. I think you two have met before, actually.”

A silent figure moved into view, a figure who had thus far gone unnoticed in the shadows at the corner of the room. Rose blinked at the figure. She recognized the dark Nightwing suit and domino mask, all black aside from the blue bird emblem on the chest, although it looked a bit modified with additional protection and a new utility belt. The beige-skinned woman wearing it, however, was definitely not Dick. Or Damian, or Tim. And sure as fuck not Jason.

The woman’s hair was dark and cut short in a shaggy bob down past her ears. A few stray scars cut across her brow and jaw, one in particular marking the corner of her lips. When she removed the domino mask around her eyes, she revealed a youthful face of mixed Asian background, somewhere in her mid-twenties. A very familiar face. A face that burned heat into Rose’s cheeks.

The woman stared a moment, and then offered a keen smile and wave. “Hi.”

_ Cassandra-fucking-Cain. _

Rose almost fell out of the cot, lurching in surprise.  _ “You?” _

Cassandra nodded. “Feel better?”

When all Rose managed was a confused sputter, Dick looked over from the table and said, “She’ll be fine. Found a heavy dose of fear toxin in her blood, but she’s metabolized it out of her system by now.”

“Fear toxin?” Rose frowned, pressing a palm to her face. “Sounds about right. That shit was brutal.”

“Trademark weapon of the Scarecrow,” Dick said. “Gets into your psyche and pulls out your deepest fears. Causes panic, hallucinations, paranoia, that sort of thing. Those canisters we found last night? Turns out they contain one of the primary ingredients of the toxin. Good news is, I can immunize you against it.”

As Dick grabbed something on the table, Rose lowered her hand and side-eyed Cassandra. Why the hell was she still smiling? “Scarecrow, right. He was there. He’s the one who hit me with the stuff. I think he’s working with Daggett Industries on something.”

“That does sound concerning.” Dick walked around the side of the cot, holding a needle and syringe. “Something we’ll definitely have to look into.”

The moment she saw the syringe, Rose locked up. Numbness crept back into her throat. She tried to say something, tried to tell him to keep it away, but images of the nightmarish illusions that night all came screaming back through her head, rendering her frozen.

Cassandra stepped forward and reached out to grab Dick’s arm, before he could raise the needle. “Wait.”

“Huh?” Dick blinked at her, puzzled.

Cassandra looked to Rose and shook her head. “No needles."

Dick took a closer look at Rose, and after apparently noticing her tension, took a step back. “Alright, get her the pill form, then. I’m going back out to see what else I can discover about this operation.”

The tension flooded out of Rose’s body, as Dick put away the syringe. Still, she frowned, staring at Cassandra. What kind of game was she playing? “So wait, you’re leaving me with  _ her?” _

Pulling up the cowl to the Batsuit, Dick flashed a smirk. “Try to play nice.” And then he was gone, cape flitting behind him down the stairs into the next level of the bunker.

Cassandra wandered over to one of the nearby medical cabinets and opened a drawer. “You don’t like me.” The statement was simple, matter-of-fact, and yet carried no sort of animosity or defensiveness to it. A simple declaration of the obvious.

Rose glared. “Not since you cut my  _ throat.” _

With a nonchalant shrug, she pulled a pill bottle out of the drawer and made her way back to the bedside. “You tried to kill me.”

“Only because my dad brainwashed me with drugs!” Rose threw up her hands in exasperation. Did this chick really not remember that part, or did she just not care? “ I was only fifteen! I could have  _ died!” _

“He wouldn’t let you. Your dad—I saw it.” Popping the cap off the bottle, Cassandra emptied three pills into her palm and passed them over. “Swallow.”

Rose snatched the pills out of the woman’s palm and popped them into her mouth. Without so much as a sip of water, she gulped them down. “You should count yourself lucky we got interrupted during our rematch. You remember—when my asshole father drugged you the same way he did me? I was about to return the favor.”

Cassandra shrugged, returning the pill bottle to its drawer. “Maybe.”

“Maybe my ass, I had you beat and you know it.”

Turning away from the drawer, Cassandra sat on the chair next to the cot and leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Didn’t say anything. Just stared.

Rose lifted a brow, staring back. “What?”

“Your dad hurt you. A lot.”

“Yeah, so what?”

“My dad hurt me too. A lot.”

The statement gave Rose pause. Right, Cassandra’s father. David Cain, another asshole mercenary like Slade. There’d been a time when she and Cassandra—still Batgirl at the time—teamed up to stop their dads during one time the two bastards had been working together. Needless to say, the whole event hadn’t exactly ended well. At least for Rose. Slade had gotten away, and she’d lost his trail. Whatever became of David Cain and Cassandra after that, she hadn’t stuck around to find out.

“Yeah, I remember him,” she said, with a subtle nod. “Seemed like about as much of an asshole as Slade. What did he do to you?”

Shifting in her seat, Cassandra reached down and began undoing buckles from the Nightwing costume. When the armored pieces loosened, she tugged off the top of the costume, revealing a plain white undershirt beneath. Which she then promptly pulled up to expose her entire naked torso.

Rose deadpanned. “And you’re flashing me.”

Cassandra pointed at her torso. “All these. Many more.”

With a curious squint, Rose leaned forward for a better look. She’d give the woman credit; Cassandra knew how to keep herself in shape. Thinner and more lithe than Rose was, but with the same kind of rigid tone to her muscle, and, admittedly, a killer set of abs. But her gaze focused on the smaller blemishes of the woman’s skin. The scars. Dozens of them, littered all across her body—slashes, gouges, burn marks, gunshots. Too many that anyone should have to endure.

“That’s a lot scars,” Rose muttered, with a distant frown.

“Yes.” Cassandra pulled her shirt back down and gave a knowing look. “You have them too.”

“I mean, maybe a few. Nothing like that, though.” Rose lifted a hand, brushing her fingers against where her left eye used to be. Her eyepatch was missing. Instead, her fingers brushed across bare flesh, and the mass of scar tissue that had healed over the empty socket after she’d lost her eye. After she’d cut it out in a fit of drug induced psychosis, all to be more like her father. One of the many ways Slade had broken her. “Except this one.”

“I mean in here.” Leaning forward, Cassandra pointed a finger against Rose’s forehead. “Many scars. Scars that haven’t healed.”

“Oh.” Rose shrank inward, folding her arms across her chest. Maybe Cassandra had a point. If tonight’s fear induced nightmare had done anything, it had resurfaced a whole fuck ton of horrible shit in her life. Shit she’d never quite been able to move past. “Don’t know. I guess.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No, I don’t want—” Rose paused halfway through her retort. Cassandra had moved her chair closer, now practically leaning against the cot. She sat at full attention, staring straight at Rose. But not with judgement, or suspicion. Not the kind of contempt Rose was used to. Just pure, open receptiveness. Somewhere in that gaze, Rose discerned a deep willingness to understand. Well, fuck. If she was going to talk to anyone… “I—I just keep fucking up, you know?”

Cassandra nodded, but didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, and I keep trying to be better but I’m just—I mean, I’m a mess. I get angry, I have outbursts, I’m impatient, violent, I don’t get along well with people… And it’s not like I can make little mistakes, either.” She puffed out a breath that fell somewhere between a gross sob and a mocking laugh. “No, it’s always gotta be big mistakes. The kind that get people hurt. Or dead. The people I work with. Innocent people. Anyone who has the misfortune of being around me, really.”

With a desperate sigh, she buried her face into her hands. “I’m just so sick and tired, you know? Sick and tired of making everything in my life worse. And everyone else’s lives too, for that matter.”

Cassandra uttered a quiet hum of thought. “We all make mistakes. It’s how we learn.”

“Not like mine, you don’t. I’m a special kind of disaster.”

“What do you do when you fall?”

Rose squinted at the other woman. “What do you mean?”

“Lie there and whine? Or get back up?”

Oh, right. A metaphor. “I get what you’re trying to say, but that’s a bit of an oversimplification.”

Cassandra stared a long while, fingers tapping against the edge of the cot. She nodded, and replied, “I had a deathwish once. Like you.”

“The hell do you mean ‘like me’?”

“You’re reckless. You hate yourself. Don’t care what happens to you. Or if you die.”

The heat bubbled back into Rose’s cheeks. With a frustrated grunt, she looked away. “And what the hell do  _ you  _ know about it?”

“I used to feel the same. But there are reasons to keep going.”

Rose glanced back, but maintained a scowl. “Yeah, like what?”

“Friends. Family. Loved ones.” Cassandra’s face brightened into a smile. “Helping People. Doing good.”

“My family is downright dysfunctional, my friends hate me, and all I do is get people hurt. Not really much I can salvage out of that, now is there?”

Cassandra gave another nonchalant, matter-of-fact shrug. The smile never left her face. “We could be friends.”

The breath rushed out of Rose’s lungs, as though she’d been punched square in the gut. She stared at the other woman, her jaw partially hanging open. “You’re fucking kidding. Me and you?  _ Friends?” _

“Why not?” Cassandra held a hand forward. “Friends?”

Rose stared at the hand, glowering as though it were a venomous animal ready to jump out and bite her.  _ Unbelievable _ . Of all people offering to be her friend, it had to be Cassandra-fucking-Cain? And that damn smile…

With an unwitting laugh of disbelief, she reached out and shook Cassandra’s hand. “Fuck it, sure, why the hell not? Friends.”

Cassandra’s smile grew. “Good.”

“But don’t think this means I like you now.”

“Of course,” said Cassandra, with another matter-of-fact nod. “By the way, recovered your motorcycle. You wrecked it.”

Rose dropped her hand into her lap. “Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, does Rose have a lot of issues. And it really doesn't help when all those are amplified to a nightmarish degree by fear toxin. We see a little bit more about the reason Rose left the Teen Titans this time around, an event that only made her doubt herself even more. Not to mention got the rest of her team pissed at her. But the part I really love about this chapter is Rose's conversation with Cassandra Cain. These are two characters I've always thought would work really well as friends/rivals, rather than enemies, which so many people seem to think they are. They have so much in common, especially in regards to how their fathers treated them. Honestly, it's a toss up who's worse. Slade might have drugged and manipulated Rose, but then David literally beat and shot Cassandra. So... it's a shit show either way.


	5. Gotham Nightmares #5: Teamwork

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose works out some pent up frustrations, and teams up with Cassandra Cain to figure out what Daggett Industries is planning with the Scarecrow.

Rose hobbled off the cot with a grunt. Dull pain pulsed in repeated throbs throughout her body. Her knee and shoulder had the worst of it. Every step jolted fire through her left leg, and lifting her arm more than a few inches had the hellish side effect of making her want to puke from the resulting nausea. Not to mention the nasty headache thundering between her ears. She’d heal most of it by tomorrow, but fuck if the time until then wasn’t going to be agony.

The Bat Bunker was quiet, save for the steady hum of computers and whatever other unknown machines Batman had down here. Dick was still out investigating the aftermath of her fuck up at Ace Chemicals, and Cassandra had returned to her own patrol nearly an hour ago. Since then, she’d been lying in bed trying to rest. Trying to sleep. The pain made that damn near impossible. So, if she couldn’t sleep, might as well get up and do something.

After taking a minute to get dressed, she made her way down the stairs from the medical station to the next level of the bunker. A large hanger opened out to one side, lined with various vehicles—everything from high-tech motorcycles to freaking jets. Most of them styled after a certain flying rodent, of course. Across from the hanger, she noted a row of glass cases, each one with old costumes on display. With an intrigued hum, she wandered through the cases for a better look.

Everything from outdated Robin costumes to about twenty different variations of the Batsuit, it seemed. She even found a couple Batgirl costumes, including the one with the weird fetish-stitched mask that Cassandra used to wear. Yeesh, that thing has always been creepy. Definitely looked better in her new Nightwing costume. Or at least more approachable.

Rose made her way into some kind of open training floor. Several striking dummies lined up against one wall, along with wooden targets hanging from the ceiling on tracks at varying heights and distances. All the better to practice chucking batarangs at moving targets, apparently. Arriving in front of a large computer panel in front of the training floor, she looked over the various settings and options visible at a glance—Henchmen, Gunmen, Sniper, Automatic, Duck and Cover, Stealth, Stealth+, Stealth Ultra, and a whole slew of other options named after different notorious Gotham villains. Leave it to Batman to have a training simulation for every possible situation.

She didn’t need a simulation right now. No, she needed something way more personal. Ignoring the limp in her stride, she marched over to one of the training dummies and glared at it—solid wooden construction, covered in padding to make striking easier on the body. She squared up in front of it, exhaled a deep breath, and lashed out with a vicious front punch. Her knuckles smashed into the padding, ripping out an echo of splintering wood beneath. The muscles in her arm rippled and shook from the impact. She might have been beaten half to death, and every move she made might be another world of daggers piercing through her sore muscles, but damn did that feel good.

She struck again, this time with a whirling roundhouse kick. The resulting crack of wood beneath her meta-enhanced strength overpowered any flashes of pain the impact ripped through her. Resetting her stance, she bashed the dummy’s head with an elbow. Wooden splinters showered the air, as half the dummy’s head broke off in pieces. Yeah, this was exactly what she fucking needed. One more deep breath, one more second to brace for the pain, and she unloaded on the poor dummy. Punches, kicks, knees, elbows—she unleashed a merciless onslaught, battering every square inch of the structure with every ounce of strength and precision she had.

One final whipping kick ruptured the entire dummy in two, tearing through the padding and cracking the wooden body down the center. The top half of the dummy clattered to the floor, along with a shower of splinters and shredded foam. Rose staggered back a step, injured knee buckling with a hot throb. Well, shit.  _ That  _ felt good.

“Get it out of your system?” said a deep, gruff voice from the shadows.

Rose’s breath rushed into her lungs, as she spun around on guard. When she saw Batman standing behind her, she grumbled and relaxed. “”Fuck, don’t  _ do  _ that.”

Batman grinned, reaching up to pull down the cowl. With his face exposed, Dick’s voice returned to normal. “Sorry, didn’t realize you spooked so easy.”

“Didn’t spook me, just surprised me. Creeper.”

“Of course.” Dick walked over and picked up the broken half of the training dummy. He turned it over, inspecting the damage. “I take it you had a lot of frustrations to work out. Being left alone with Cass stress you out that much?”

“More like the panic induced hallucinations, courtesy of Scarecrow,” she said, with a deep frown. “Cassandra and I are actually friends now, so we’re cool.”

Dick raised a confused brow. “Oh, well that’s—I mean, that’s good.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s fucking bizarre. But maybe she’s not all that bad. Enough about that, though. What did you find?”

“Not much. By the time I got to Ace Chemicals, the entire place had been cleared out. No guards, no workers, no Scarecrow. Plenty of empty chemical vats, though, all with traces of fear toxin left in them.”

Rose hobbled over to the training control panel and leaned against it, taking weight off her knee. “Fuckers work fast, I guess. How long was I out?”

“Cass brought you in around ten. Was a few hours before you woke up and gave us the info.” Reaching into his utility belt, Dick pulled out a palm-sized device and squinted at it. “Almost four A.M. now.”

“So how do we find the Scarecrow now?”

“We might not have to.” Returning the device into his utility belt, Dick marched across the bunker towards a large series of computer monitors. He hit a few keys until the screen hummed to life, and pulled up a webpage that read:  _ Daggett Industries, Developer of Pharmaceuticals, Chemicals, and Biological Products. _ A picture of a man with reddish-brown hair in an expensive-looking suit sat beneath the header. The photo’s label read: _Rola_ __nd_ Daggett, CEO of Daggett Industries _ . Pointing to the screen, he continued, “If Scarecrow really is working with Daggett Industries, we should be able to bypass him and go straight to the source. Daggett is the one ordering the fear toxin, which means he’s the one behind whatever they’re planning.”

Rose stared at the screen, focusing on the photo of Roland Daggett. “And whatever they’re planning, it must be big to warrant the backing of such a massive company.”

“Which is exactly what concerns me. The Scarecrow is bad enough on his own. I don’t want to think about what might happen if his methods were put on a corporate scale.”

“Good news is, I think I have a way to get us the information we need.”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?”

“Well, I didn’t just stumble onto their operation at random.” When Dick’s eyes further narrowed, she cleared her throat. “Okay, I kinda did, but I mean it’s because I happened to run into one of Daggett’s underlings at a bar, who offered me a job to move some crates for them.”

“And you just took the job? From some random guy you met in a bar?”

“Hey, I was strapped for cash. Again, we’re not all billionaires. So yeah, I took him up on it, saw the whole thing was shady as fuck, and went back to investigate. Point is, all I need to do is head back there tomorrow looking for more work, corner the guy, and get him to spill everything.”

Dick pursed his lips a moment, glancing her up and down, no doubt taking in her injuries. With a look back at the computer screen, he eased a reluctant sigh and said, “That would be convenient. Fine, but you’re going with backup.”

Rose frowned, which turned into a pained grimace as she folded her arms across her chest. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Grayson.”

He grinned. “I didn’t say me.”

* * *

“I still don’t see why I can’t drive,” Rose said, holding her arms tighter around the driver’s midsection. She half-shouted her words, to be heard through her helmet over the roar of the motorcycle.

Cassandra veered down the next street, responding in the same half-shout. “My ride. I drive.”

Unable to argue against the ironclad logic, Rose grumbled and remained quiet for the rest of the trip. Yeah, so maybe it was Cassandra’s motorcycle. And yeah, so maybe it was way nicer than the old clunker Rose had barely been able to keep running. Didn’t mean she had to be happy about it. 

Cassandra hadn’t been lying when she said Rose had wrecked her bike. Damn thing was a heap of twisted metal and broken parts after the crash. So much for any transportation of her own now; the money she’d made working for Danny yesterday didn’t come close to being able to afford a new motorcycle, and she sure as hell hadn’t been paying for insurance.

When they pulled up in front of the warehouse, the same three men were sitting around a table playing cards outside the entrance. They looked up and stopped their game as Cassandra killed the engine. Rose noted the one named Hank reach behind his back, only to relax when she removed her helmet. Cassandra did the same, and neatened her hair with a few quick brushes of her fingers.

“I remember you,” said Hank, “but who’s your friend?” He nodded to Cassandra, who stood calmly next to Rose in a black turtleneck and jeans.

“Just some extra hands,” she said. “Danny did say he was always looking for more help, right?”

Cassandra smiled and gave a wave. “Hi.”

Hank grumbled, and after a moment of internal debate motioned for them to follow. “Fine, I’ll show you to him.”

On their way by the table, the balding man opened his mouth to say something, but quickly silenced when Rose shot him a death glare. Damn perv needed to mind his own business. Hank led them through the entrance, beyond the rows of shelves and workers driving forklifts, into the hallway of offices, and down to the very last door on the left. Evidently, the only office actually in use.

“Absolutely, Mr. Daggett,” came Danny’s voice from within. A muffled voice from a phone responded. The door was already ajar, and Hank didn’t stick around to escort them in. He merely nodded to the office and walked out. Rose and Cassandra both waited outside, listening to the one-sided conversation. “I assure you, everything is going according to plan, even with the unexpected surprise last night. Yes, Mr. Crane solved the issue and moved operations to a more suitable location. Shipment should reach you sometime later this afternoon, then we’re all set to go ahead with the plan, yeah? I know, I got it, not to worry. Of course, talk to you later.”

As soon as she heard the click of the phone, Rose nodded to Cassandra and led the way inside. Danny sat behind the desk, his pudgy form squeezed into a chair way too small for him. He looked up when they entered, and immediately broke into a big smile. “Ah, hey, was wondering if you’d be coming back! Glad to see you. This a friend of yours?”

Cassandra nodded. “Yes, friend.”

“Good, good. We actually got a bigger than normal shipment we’re moving today, so having another person around to help will be great.” Danny pushed his way out from behind the desk and waddled around the front of it. “Just come with me and I’ll show you to—"

The instant he was in range, Rose grabbed the back of Danny’s head, spun him around, and slammed his face onto the desk. At the same time, she wrenched one of his arms behind his back in a rather painful elbow-lock. He squealed out in surprise, sputtering to gain his bearings. He briefly struggled, but a little added pressure on his arm put a stop to his futile flailing.

“What the fuck is this!” he gaped, through whimpering cries of pain. “Lemme go!”

“Not until you tell us everything about this little operation of yours,” she said, leaning in close to his ear. “What is Daggett planning?”

“Oh fuck, what are you, cops?” Danny gave another desperate lurch, but Rose applied more pressure onto his arm. “Ow! Ow! Fuck, come on, I know my rights!”

Rose scoffed. “Too bad we’re not cops. Just a couple of concerned citizens. Now, you gonna talk, or what?”

“You kidding me? You can’t just come in here and make demands!”

Cassandra moved next to the pinned man and took hold of his arm that wasn’t currently chicken-winged behind his back. With a couple quick pinches to his wrist, the arm fell limp and unmoving on the table.

“Oh what the fuck!” Danny exclaimed. “Why can’t I move my arm? The fuck did you do to me!”

“Only temporary,” said Cassandra, with a matter-of-fact nod. “Get it back when you talk.”

Danny sputtered with exasperation, spittle spraying from his lips onto the dark wood of the desk. “You’re both fucking nuts!”

Rose gave a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, you’re not wrong. Care to find out how much?”

“C-come on! Please! I’ll lose my job if I tell you anything!”

Leaning in real close to the man’s ear, Rose whispered in the coldest, most menacing tone she could muster. ”Better your job than your arm.”

The color drained like a river from his face. “Fuck, shit, alright! I’ll talk! Just please, for the love of God, let my arm go! Come on, you’re killing me!”

Rose rolled her eye, and after a careful moment’s debate with herself she released his arm. Wasn’t really a whole lot an overweight, one-armed man could do trapped in a small room with Ravager and Nightwing. Danny pulled his arm back and whimpered for a few moments, nursing his elbow. His other arm hung limp at his side, as he waddled back around the desk into the chair. Both Rose and Cassandra watched him like hawks.

“Fuck, you two broads are brutal,” he muttered.

“Yeah, story of life,” Rose said, leaning across the desk. “I’m also pretty impatient, so talk.”

Danny shot her a stink-eye, but sank into his seat with a defeated sigh nonetheless. “It’s money, alright? It’s always about the money.”

Cassandra frowned. “Details.”

“You ever hear of a nutjob named Jonathan Crane? Otherwise known as the Scarecrow? Wears a burlap mask, likes to act all scary? Really, he’s just some loony with a horror-complex, but who am I to judge?”

“Rings a bell,” Rose said. “Makes a drug called fear toxin, right?”

Danny nodded. “That’s the stuff. Well, that’s what Mr. Daggett’s been ordering. Huge truckloads of the stuff. The supplies we’ve been shipping to Crane have been to make his toxin—not easy to get ahold of the ingredients when you’re an escaped criminal patient of Arkham, know what I mean?” Rose merely glared, prompting the man to clear his throat and continue. “Well, Daggett Industries works in pharmaceuticals and chemicals, so the ingredients are pretty easy to come by. Makes for a nice partnership.”

“But why?” Rose asked. “What’s Daggett want with that much fear toxin?”

“The water supply.”

The statement clicked in Rose’s head a second after Danny said it. Her brow shot upward. “He’s going to poison Gotham’s water? What the fuck for?”

“Come on, think about,” Danny said, with an exaggerated wave of his hand. “Almost everyone in Gotham gets their water from the same place. Can you imagine that many people going crazy off their worst fears? The city’ll practically tear itself apart!”

“Yeah, okay, and maybe if it was just the Scarecrow wanting mass hysteria, that might make sense. But what the hell does Daggett Industries get out of it?

“Like I said, it’s all about the money.” Danny wagged his finger with a knowing smirk. “Daggett Industries works in pharmaceuticals. Medicine. After a few days, maybe a week, of Gotham going insane, we come out with an announcement that we’ve discovered the cure! Badabing, badaboom, we sell the cure to every last person in Gotham. That’s millions of people. And we can charge whatever the hell we want, since the alternative is allowing the city to implode. The way Daggett sees it, he’ll make a fortune!”

Rose gawked at the man. “That’s fucking lunacy. You have to realize that, right? Going that far to make money? How many people are going to die before you come out with your fucking ‘cure’!”

Danny shrugged. “Eh, not my problem. Once I get my payday, I’m gonna retire to Bora Bora and never set foot in this Devil’s-asshole of a city again.”

Cassandra smacked her palms against the desk, drawing a startled look from Danny. “Where? When?”

“What, you mean where’s this going down?” When she nodded, Danny waved her off with a scoff. “Right, like I’m gonna tell you and let you ruin—“

Rose punched the desk.  _ Hard _ . Enough that a solid crack ruptured across the top of the heavy wooden frame with a bang loud enough to be a gunshot. The desk buckled at the center, ready to topple over. “She asked you a question. Answer.”

Any remaining color in Danny’s face siphoned away into the ether. With a frantic nod, he began fumbling at the bottom drawer of the desk. “A-alright! Alright! Gotham Water Works, tonight. Midnight. I—I got a map right here. Just lemme…”

Danny’s hand swung out from the drawer with a pistol clutched in his grip. Rose saw as much in her head a second before it happened. But as she readied to disarm the bastard before he could get a shot off, Cassandra lunged across the desk with a flying kick to the face. Danny crumpled out of his chair to the floor and didn’t get up.

“Huh, well that’s one to do it,” Rose said, with a purse of her lips. Pretty good form on the kick, too. Cassandra had always been a martial wizard, she’d give her that. “Not bad, Bat-chick.”

Cassandra grinned and flashed a thumbs-up. “Teamwork.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teamwork makes the dream work! But really it is nice to write Rose and Cassandra being badasses together, even if so far all they've done is interrogate a guy. But hey, there's bound to be action coming soon. They'll get their fair share of costumed kickassery in there together.


	6. Gotham Nightmares #6: Why Won't You Kiss Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager, Batman, and Nightwing team up to put a stop to Scarecrow's plot with Daggett Industries, and Rose makes an ill-advised move on Grayson.

Ravager lay prone on the roof of Gotham Water Works, the city’s water purification plant, with a pair of high tech binoculars pressed against her mask. This piece of equipment was actually pretty sweet, complete with automatic focus zooming, a HUD with distance and height information, even built-in facial recognition. That didn’t mean she’d start calling them batnoculars, but still. Nifty nonetheless.

Keeping a watchful eye on the front of the building, she noted a veritable fleet of vans driving down the road towards the entrance. She zoomed in on the front windows, and the generic-looking thugs at the wheel. No doubt they were all armed, and there was no telling how many were in those vans, but hopefully they’d provide at least a little challenge.

“Targets on approach,” she said, pressing down on the earpiece beneath her mask—yet another piece of tech courtesy of Batman. “Better start getting into position.”

“Already inside,” came Batman’s gruff voice over the earpiece. “Let us know when they’re entering and then standby for attack.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Ravager waited, remaining still as the vans parked outside the front gates of the property. A security guard made his way out of the guard booth and stood on the inside of the gate. The side door of the lead van opened, and a man in a clean-pressed suit stepped out. As soon as his face appeared in full view, the facial recognition of the binocular HUD pinged with: _Roland Daggett_. With a curious glare, Ravager clicked a button on the side of the binoculars, prompting crystal clear voices to stream in over her earpiece.

“You’re on time, good,” said the security guard, with a quick look back and forth.

“I’m always prompt,” said Daggett, adjusting his suit jacket. “Everything ready for business?”

“You know it. Alarms are down, cameras are on loop, and it’s just me tonight. You’re all set.”

“Excellent.” Daggett reached into his jacket and pulled out a fat envelope. He passed it through the gate to the guard, who briefly opened it to look at the contents. “It’s all there.”

Apparently satisfied, the guard stuffed the envelope into his pocket and ran over to the guard booth. A few seconds later, the large metal gate slid open, allowing the vans to pass through. On their way by, the guard waved to them and muttered out a pleased, “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Rose frowned, and pressed a finger to her earpiece. “Wonder how much it took to pay off the lone security guard to poison the entire city’s water supply. Probably a waste, really. If we can get in here without anyone noticing, surely the head of an evil pharmaceutical corporation could figure out a way.”

The earpiece crackled, and this time Nightwing’s voice replied. “Easier that way. Less messy.”

“Hrm, maybe.” Rose continued watching atop the roof, as the vans rolled right up to the front entrance of the plant. Daggett stepped out of the lead van again, followed by a lanky individual with long, greasy hair and a horrible five o’clock shadow. Soon after, the other vans opened up with a whole team of henchman who began unloading a series of large metal drums—containers of fear toxin no doubt. Focusing on the grease-ball, the facial recognition pinged again with: _Jonathan Crane. Alias: Scarecrow._ She frowned. “Looks like the super villain himself is here. Ugly little shit without the mask.”

Batman replied over the earpiece, “Good news is, we shouldn’t have to worry about the fear toxin. The pills you took are only temporary compared to full inoculation, but that resistance should last a couple more days.”

“Good,” she muttered. “Last thing I need right now is to revisit my nightmares again.”

As the henchmen carted the drums through the entrance, Ravager focused the binoculars on Daggett and Crane. The latter looked around with frantic, wild eyes, hunched forward with his hands wringing together. Once again, voices streamed into her earpiece, as though she were standing right next to them.

“What’s the matter with you, Crane?” said Daggett, giving the gangly man a stern glare.

“It’s the Batman,” he whimpered. “He’ll show up. I’m sure of it. I have a feeling.”

Daggett scoffed. “Oh, a  _ feeling _ . Now I know I should be concerned.”

“I’m telling you, he’ll be here!” Crane snapped a look up towards the roof, directly where Ravager lay in wait. Evidently not seeing anything in the shadows, his gaze continued. “When you’ve been up against him as long as I have, you just know these things.”

“Would you relax?” Daggett watched his men moving the drums, his arms folded. “Even if you did leave a trail for him to follow, we’ll be long done here before he figures out our plan. Besides, you told me the person snooping around your operation was some broad with swords. Last I checked, that’s not Batman.”

Crane grumbled in annoyance. “True, but still. Doesn’t matter if she’s new, we should still assume she has ties to the Bat. They all do, all those costumed lunatics.”

“Right, they’re the lunatics,” Daggett muttered, giving the other man a side-eyed glance.

“And let’s not forget your man was found today unconscious. At your main shipping warehouse. What if they already got to him?”

Ravager smirked at the statement. Looks like the sedative Cassandra gave good ol’ Danny had worked its magic. Poor bastard would be out cold until sometime tomorrow, well after he’d be able to inform his boss about his little interrogation.

“Quit your worrying,” Daggett said, as he followed his goons towards the entrance. Ravager strained over the edge of the building for a better angle, but they disappeared from sight. “We have ways with dealing with intruders.”

“They’re in,” she said, pressing her earpiece. “I'm heading through the roof access now. Get ready.”

* * *

Ravager worked her way in from the roof stairwell, down into the upper levels of the plant through a maze of machinery and pipes. The steady hum of turbines rumbled through the building. No lights this late at night, save for small, periodic blue dots on the ceiling to guide her way, only barely bright enough to keep a normal person from walking into a wall. From the ceiling above, muffled voices echoed through vents, somewhere deeper in the building. She turned the corner, moving into another long series of dark hallways.

“Which way am I going, again?” she whispered through the earpiece.

Batman’s voice echoed into her head with a crackle. “They’ll be heading to the purification tanks near the center of the plant. Keep heading east through the building and take the stairs down one level. You’ll find access to the catwalks. Stay hidden and wait for the signal when you’re there.”

“And what exactly is the signal?”

Nightwing’s voice joined the conversation with a simple, “You’ll know.”

“Right, if you say so.” Continuing down the corridor, Ravager turned down a winding set of metal steps leading to a solid door at the end of a short alcove. Gazing through the door’s window, she noted a series of catwalks overlooking a row of massive tanks filled with churning water, turbines powering the liquid through whatever filtration systems were in place to purify the water. Or however the fuck it worked. She didn’t much care, only that she knew they had to stop it.

Unlike back at Ace Chemicals, she didn’t notice any guards patrolling the catwalks. Whatever goons Daggett had hired appeared to be focused entirely on setting up their operation below. Quietly easing open the door, she slipped onto the catwalks and crept along in the shadows, keeping an eye down below. Nearly a dozen men wielding automatic pistols stood guard, while another team of workers were busy opening the metal drums. Another man had climbed to the top of one of the purification tanks and begun typing something into the control panel.

“Better hurry,” she said, finger to her ear. “A few more minutes and Gotham’s in serious trouble.”

“Don’t worry,” Batman said. “They won’t get that far.”

“What the hell are you waiting for?”

A brief pause, and Batman replied, “The signal.”

Bright red lights immediately erupted throughout the purification center, blinking on and off in steady succession. A shrill, blaring alarm joined the lights in the same cadence. The men down below recoiled in a panic, looking towards the ceiling while shouting at each other in confusion. Seconds later, a large cloud of smoke exploded between them, filling the entire room with a thick haze. A dark shadow with a trailing cape descended from the other side of the catwalks into the cloud and disappeared. Gunshots and screaming followed.

Well, couldn’t go letting Batman have all the fun. Catapulting off the catwalk railing, Ravager plunged into the smoke and hit the ground in a controlled combat roll. A precognitive flash triggered as she sprang to her feet. Whirling around the side of one of the tanks, she led with a lunging kick and sent the man’s gun flying from his grasp. She followed with a series of quick, brutal strikes to his pressure points, dropping him to a motionless heap on the floor.

A second man rushed her through the smoke. She sidestepped, yanked his arm around, and slammed him face-first into the tank behind her. A bloody gurgle sprang from his throat, as his nose snapped from the impact. More gunshots went off, random fire through the cloud. Idiots were going to shoot themselves if they kept that up.

“I told you he’d be here!” yelled a frantic voice through the chaos. “I told you he’d come!”

Ravager whirled towards the sound of the voice. Difficult to get a bead on it over the obnoxious alarm blaring overhead, but she noted a silhouette through the haze that matched the Scarecrow’s gangly frame. She ran forward, dropped a third man with an elbow to the back of the head, and broke through the smoke towards the back of the chamber. Crane stood there, a nervous gaze snapping wildly in all directions.

“Scarecrow!” Ravager shouted. She broke into a mad dash towards him, drawing one of her swords.

Crane yelped, looking to her with bug-eyes. He covered his face with his arms and stood there, helpless. As she lunged in to drive the pommel of her sword square against the man’s nose, another white flash went off in her head—an image of herself cut down by gunfire. She diverted her path in an instant, diving behind a pillar a second before the rapid sound of a machine pistol exploded over the alarm.

“You idiots! Stop shooting at shadows!” Daggett’s voice, the one who’d fired at her. “They’re picking you off one by one! Regroup outside the smoke and work together for fuck’s sake!”

Ravager peered around the corner of the pillar, only to duck behind again as another round of gunfire sprayed a shower of concrete chips into the air. Great, bastard had her pinned. She looked both ways, noting another pillar about ten feet away. As soon as the gunfire paused, she dove out into roll across the floor and sprang behind the next pillar. The floor where she’d been half a second before exploded, torn apart by a storm of bullets. Alright, so if she just played cat and mouse with this asshole, she might be able to work her way around to him. Or he’d turn her into Swiss cheese.

As she stole a quick look around for more cover to dart behind, Daggett shouted, “What the—fuck!”

Peering around the pillar, she noticed a dark shape leaping down from the catwalks above Daggett. He raised his gun to adjust to the new target, but before he could fire a shot Nightwing landed a flying kick square into his chest. He tumbled backwards with a low grunt and rolled across the floor. Nightwing kicked off from the impact, landing soundly on her feet. 

With a smile, Nightwing looked over, gave a thumbs-up and said, “I got him.”

Daggett muttered a tirade of swears under his breath as he scrambled back to his feet, but Nightwing was already on him. The two disappeared into the smoke cloud, Daggett’s cries of pain bellowing over the alarm. 

Crane watched with his jaw hanging open. With a single glance at Ravager, he yelped and broke into a dead sprint through a set of doors behind him. “I’m not going back to Arkham for this!”

Ravager took off in hot pursuit. “Crane! Get back here!”

Crane had no hope of outrunning her. Even with the lingering throbs of pain burning through her battered body, her super soldier enhancements put Olympic runners to shame. She barreled through the doors into a wide hallway beyond, dark save for the steady flashing red lights of the alarm. Catching sight of her quarry disappearing around a corner, she gave chase.

A flash pulsed through her mind. She raised one of her swords as she tore around the corner, parrying the incoming metal pipe with a clang. Crane sputtered a breath of surprise and stumbled. Idiot. Twisting her body, she met his jaw with a thunderous punch, lifting him an inch off his feet before he face-planted onto the floor. The pipe clattered out of his grip. Whimpering, he attempted to crawl away.

Ravager circled him, swatting the pipe out of reach with her sword. No chance of getting to that now. She pointed the blade at the back of his head. “Payback time, asshole.”

Crane paused, slowly reaching up his hands as if to surrender. Ravager continued circling him. As she knelt down to grab the back of his shirt, he rolled over with a desperate screech and raised one of his arms. A familiar green cloud burst forth from his sleeve. She backpedaled, coughing as the noxious gas enveloped her face.

“That’s it!” Crane said. He fumbled beneath his shirt for a burlap mask, slipping it over his head. When it was in place, he scrambled to his feet. “Take a deep breath! Let the fear take hold and—”

His words cut out with a grunt, as Ravager’s knuckles battered into his gut. He hobbled forward, clutching his midsection. Before he had a chance to process how badly he’d fucked up, Ravager connected a kick to his face; bone snapped beneath his mask, causing a blotch of crimson to spread through the burlap. He crumpled to the floor and clutched his face, unmoving save for a few twitches of pain.

“Not this time, freakshow,” Ravager said, looming over the downed villain. With a single raise of her boot, she brought it crashing down against the Scarecrow’s head. He flopped limp against the floor. With a triumphant scoff, she grabbed him by the ankle and began dragging him back to the purification chamber. “And now we’re even.”

Both Batman and Nightwing were waiting for her, standing over an entire group of beaten and bound men, all of them either unconscious or otherwise delirious. Daggett himself lay in a stupor, thick cord wrapped around his arms and legs. Flashing a satisfied smirk, she walked over and tossed Scarecrow into the pile with the others.

“Guess that takes care of that,” she said.

Batman nodded. “Good work. You and Nightwing should head back to the bunker. Police will be arriving soon, and I tipped off the commissioner ahead of time he might be needed. Leave clean up to me.”

Nightwing gave Ravager a pat on the shoulder. “Head back?”

“Sounds good to me,” she said, with a flippant wave to Batman. “Never been a fan of authority. Let him deal with the cops. Besides, I need a freaking drink.”

* * *

Rose flopped onto the sitting room couch of Dick’s penthouse with an agonized groan. The painkillers she’d taken earlier were starting to wear off, which meant the distant, dull throbbing from before had ignited. Her entire body pulsed, every movement a struggle that sent knives through her muscles. One more day. Just one more day, and she’d be good as new. Hopefully.

Forcing herself upright, she gulped down a swig of cherry vodka straight from the bottle. It burned going down and tasted like shit, but hell, she wasn’t drinking it for the flavor. Thank fuck she’d finally found Dick’s alcohol. Who kept their booze in a locked trapdoor beneath their sink? Honestly. Another swig, another trace of fire down her throat, and the pain gradually dulled beneath an alcoholic haze. There, much better.

Halfway through the bottle, someone cleared their throat from across the room. “You know you’re still not old enough to drink that.”

Cracking open her eye, Rose glanced towards the voice. Dick stood there behind the couch dressed down in a simple T-shirt and sweatpants. He folded his folded, staring at her. “Ugh, are you always so sickeningly straight and narrow? Just let me have this.”

With a heavy sigh, Dick wandered around the couch and let himself fall into the cushions. He leaned back, eyes closed and a hand pressed against his forehead. “Fine, fine. You did good tonight.”

“Yeah, well I am pretty awesome,” she said, gesturing with the bottle. Shifting herself on the couch to give its new occupant a bit more room, she gulped down another swig. 

“I’m serious, Rose.” Lowering his hand, Dick looked over at her. “You’re good at this, when you allow yourself to be. You just have to trust yourself. When you make a mistake, learn from it. Don’t let it beat you.”

Rose stared back at him, mulling over the words. He could say it all he wanted, but that didn’t make it true. Sure, she could do good every once in a while, but she’d still fuck it up eventually, wouldn’t she? She always did. So then why did his words make her smile? With a soft breath, she looked back to the vodka bottle. “You know, Grayson, when you’re not being stupid, you’re actually kinda smart.”

“I just want you to know you’re not alone,” he said, leaning closer to her. “You haven’t been for a long time.”

“Yeah…” she muttered, her eyes wandering from his face. “Guess I can see that now.”

Dick said something else, but she didn’t hear it. Something changed in the way he sounded. The way he looked. She focused on his chest, the way his T-shirt clung tight against his muscles. He’d always been attractive, but damn, why couldn’t she stop staring now? Heat rose into her cheeks, and her heart thudded. 

Fuck, this was a bad. But there he was, sitting right in front of her, telling her how great she was. How she wasn’t alone. Dick Grayson, the only person who’d ever given enough of a damn to give her a chance. Dick Grayson, the only who who constantly supported her when she drove everyone else away. Dick Grayson, with that perfect fucking body.

“Uh, Rose?” Dick blinked at her, his gaze narrowing. “You alright?”

She dropped the bottle and dove in, wrapping her arms around his head and pulling him close. He managed a startled mumble as their lips met. Her heart raced faster. For two brief, amazing seconds, she tasted the sweetness of his lips, mixed with the salty residue of sweat. It made her face burn in the most wonderful way.

And then he pushed her away. “Whoa! Rose, what the hell are you doing?”

“I—kissing you,” she stammered, with a breathless gasp. She’d kissed people before, usually as part of overly aggressive flirting or simply to get a rise out of someone, but that—a kiss had never felt so  _ right  _ before. “Is that bad?”

He sat back and rubbed a hand against his forehead. With a tired sigh, he said, “We can’t.”

She breathed harder. Her lips yearned for that taste again. She yearned for that flutter in her chest. “And why not?”

“For starters, you’re drunk.”

“Tipsy at best.”

“You’re still a teenager.”

“Twenty in a few months. And what guy doesn’t fantasize about getting with a hot teen?”

“I don’t feel that way about you.” His voice rose, as his tired expression turned into a stern glare. 

A lump knotted in Rose’s throat. She straightened herself on the couch, head shaking with disbelief. “But you said—you said you cared about me.”

“And I meant that. But as a  _ friend.” _

“What, never heard of friends with benefits?” Even as she said it, she scoffed at her desperation. Should have seen that coming. Dick Grayson, squeaky clean pretty boy billionaire, get with Rose Wilson, contentious, violent ball of angst and fuckery? Not a chance in hell. With a shake of her head, she stood from the couch and staggered out of the room. “Fuck, I really am drunk. I’m gonna go puke and then get some sleep. I’ll figure out where I’m going in the morning.”

Dick watched her with a raised eyebrow. “You’re leaving?”

“I was only supposed to stay for a few days, remember? Besides...” Pausing outside the open bathroom door, she swallowed the knot in her throat and shook her head. “I’m getting tired of sleeping on your couch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for the very first story arc of this fic. It was meant to really give a foundation for what Rose's life is like right now and how she feels about herself. We see her really shining in the team up with Batman and Nightwing, which should boost her confidence with how much she thinks she keeps screwing up, but then we get to the aftermath where she reads too much into things with Dick and ends up bringing on herself the thing she's most afraid of: rejection and disappointing others. Which only compounds her self-doubt. We'll be moving into the second arc next, which focuses on Rose finding her place in a new city and figuring out what she really wants out of her life, which should be fun.


	7. Secrets In Silverstone #1: First Rule of Fight Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leaving Gotham behind, Rose finds herself in a new city participating in an illegal underground fight club for cash. What could possibly go wrong?

Three weeks. Three weeks since she’d left Gotham. Three weeks since she’d stumbled into a new city. Three long weeks since she’d made a fool of herself trying to come on to Dick-freaking-Grayson. He’d helped her leave, at the very least. For whatever reason, Rose’s drunken advances hadn’t completely destroyed his opinion of her. He’d fixed up her wrecked motorcycle, practically forced a couple grand on her to keep her going, and wished her luck. Luck—what a crock. She needed a goddamn miracle.

But Gotham was long behind her now. Three hundred miles later, Rose had found her way to Silverstone City, a middle-of-nowhere place with no superheroes or supervillains to bog it down. Maybe for once she’d be able to get away from all that bullcrap for a while and actually put her head on straight. Or maybe she’d lose her damn mind. Time would tell.

First order of business, though: start earning money. She’d already blown through more than half of what Dick had given her on gas and an overpriced, shithole apartment. If she didn’t want to starve or get evicted, she needed to sustain herself. No way was she going to waste away in a fast food joint, though, or go insane working retail. No, there were only a handful of jobs suitable for someone with her particular skill set. 

Which brought her to the Orchid Lounge, an out of the way nightclub near the heart of the city. Or rather, twenty feet below it in the locker room of an underground arena, wrapping her fists with tape. She’d heard about it shortly after arriving in Silverstone—whispers of a secret fight club with no rules, no limits, and cash payouts to the winners, all for the entertainment of rich bastards eager to watch people beat the shit out of each other. Perfect for her. A little digging and she’d discovered the fight club’s location, talked her way in with one of the managers, and signed herself up.

Tonight would be her first fight. According to the manager, the bouts functioned as a series of tournaments, with different brackets depending on the fighters’ renown and skill level. One tournament a night, three nights a week, a different bracket on each day, in front of an audience of some of Silverstone’s biggest criminal scumbags, business tycoons, and sadists. Fighters came in every flavor—mafia thugs, MMA hopefuls, boxers past their prime, ex-military washouts, and the like. Doubted they’d seen anything like her, though. These poor bastards were in for a rude wake up call when she got in the ring.

Granted, as a no-name newcomer, she’d be starting out in the lowest rung of the lowest bracket. In essence, the fodder tournament—small-timers and greenhorns, the lot of them. The audience would be betting peanuts at most, which meant the payouts would be shit, but with a little work she might make an impression and move up the ranks, where the real cash was. And if that meant beating the tar out of a bunch of criminals and other wannabe fighters along the way? All the better. 

She’d seen these kind of shady underground fight club before, during her undercover work on the Terror Titans. Difference being, that fight club had been specifically for captive metahumans with powers. That, and the fights were to the death. This would be way simpler, and probably a lot less fatal.

As she finished taping her fists, Rose sat up straight on the bench and glanced around the small, empty locker room. Not a whole lot of female fighters in these tournaments, which meant she had the place to herself for the time being. Good. Didn’t want to have to deal with anyone else right now. The place was quiet, too, save for the rhythmic, muffled thumping of club music from the Orchid Lounge somewhere above. Oddly peaceful, in a way. Soothing, even.

A knock on the locker room door drew her from her thoughts, followed by a man’s voice on the other side. “Miss? You decent?”

“I’m good.” Standing from the bench, she grabbed her duffel bag and tossed it into the open locket in front of her. She’d dressed down in a simple pair of workout shorts and a sports bra, her feet bare aside from a similar tape job as her hands.

The door opened, giving way to a portly, balding man dressed in a slick white clubbing suit, which really only someone taller and better proportioned should be wearing. The bottom of the high collared shirt had been tucked into his belt, but was riding up over his gut despite the sparkling belt around his trousers. A variety of jewelry dangled from his person, including a menagerie of gold and silver chains around his neck, and large rings stacked onto every single one of his fingers. If ever there were a visual definition of “gaudy”, it was Sal Mancini, her acting manager for the Orchid Lounge Fight Club.

“You almost ready?” said Sal, with an enthusiastic clap of his hands. “You’re on in five.”

Rose punched a fist into her palm. “Just show me to the ring and let’s do this.”

Sal gave her a quick look over, lips pursed with thought. “And you’re absolutely sure you wanna do this? I mean, there ain’t any rules against women participating, and you are in very fine shape, but these are some real tough guys we’re talking about here. And I mean, you do have the, uh, visual handicap.” He made a gesture to his own left eye, indicating the one Rose was missing. “Would be a shame to see someone with your looks get roughed up more than you already are.”

“You point me at my opponent, and I’ll kick their ass,” she said, with a stern glare. “That’s the only thing you need to worry your bald head about, got it?”

“Sure, sure.” Sal shrugged, and waved her along. “Just know, we ain’t responsible for any injuries you may incur in these fights, nor do we cover any resulting medical expenses.”

Rose adjusted her eyepatch on the way out the door, following the manager into a narrow corridor. “Hope you gave my opponent the same speech.”

Sal puffed out a breathy chuckle. “Well, if anything you got the right attitude, I’ll give you that.”

At the end of the corridor, a set of doors led into the ring itself. It was large, maybe twice the size of an MMA ring, but rather than being surrounded by any sort of cage, sheer concrete walls blocked them in on all sides. At the top of the walls, rows of raised seats looked on from above, wrapping around the entire ring. The whole the thing gave more of a fighting pit vibe, rather than a ring. Whatever worked for them, in any case. She’d fight wherever they wanted, so long as they were paying.

Shadowed figures sat amongst the seats at the top of the pit, little more than indistinguishable silhouettes against the bright lights shining down from the ceiling directly overhead. A lot of the seats were empty, though. No doubt because these were the newbie fighters, the ones yet to prove themselves. The ones not a whole lot of people wanted to waste their time or money betting on.

As Rose made her way towards the center of the pit, the doors on the opposite wall opened. Another man entered, tall and well-muscled, dressed in boxing trunks. Everything about him, from his goofy grin to the people above, to his buzzed blonde hair screamed “amateur!” Rose couldn’t hide her own grin. Poor bastard had no idea the kind of pain he was in for.

“Alright, there’s your opponent,” said Sal, with a quick nod to the man. “Goes by the name of Ken Burke. Bit of an up and coming boxer from what I understand, nothing special, but he throws a real mean right hook. So uh, you know, good luck and don’t get your teeth knocked out. I’ll be waiting for you when you’re done!”

And with that, her manager scrambled back through the doors behind them, out of the arena. Sure knew how to inspire his clients, that one. Rolling her eye, Rose focused on her opponent.

As soon as Ken made it within earshot of her, he let out an over exaggerated groan and threw his hands up. “Oh come on, what’s this? I gotta fight a chick?”

“What’s the problem?” she said, folding her arms in a way that made her rock solid biceps pop. “Afraid of getting your ass handed to you by a ‘chick’?”

He huffed. “Just didn’t sign up to fight women, is all. You know what you're getting yourself into?”

Rose watched the man start bouncing on his toes, warming up with a quick shadow box at the open air. “Yeah, I got a pretty good idea.”

The sound of a PA system crackled into existence, and a bellowing voice echoed around the arena. “Ladies and gentlemen of Silverstone City, welcome to another exciting night at the Orchid Lounge Fight Club! We have a lot of new fighters ready to show off their skill, so let’s get things started, shall we? First up tonight, from our very own Midtown district, we have Ken Burke, a regular here who I’m sure you’ve all seen fight before.”

Ken continued bouncing on his toes, while raising an arm to greet the audience. There was no applause, no cheering, nothing like an actual boxing match. These people weren’t really into the whole fanfare thing, apparently.

“And then we have a brand new entry tonight,” the announcer continued. “A new arrival in Silverstone, the beautiful, the talented, Lilian Worth!”

Rose might be desperate for cash, but she wasn’t stupid. Giving her real name in a place like this would be a recipe for future disaster she wanted no part of. Considering these people hadn’t required any sort of background check, giving an alias seemed the obvious play. Her mother’s name worked well enough.

“At least, I’m told she’s talented.” The announcer chuckled. “We’ll see soon enough in the ring! Will anyone out there be daring enough to bet on an unknown? You have three minutes to decide, so please place your bets now!”

Throughout the following three minutes, Ken continued his warm ups, paying no mind to his opponent standing five feet away from him. Rose glared at him. Watched him. Studied him. If his little shadow boxing was any indicator, this guy had about fifty blatant openings she could take advantage of in the first five seconds. Maybe he was a talented boxer, but this was no boxing ring. As of this moment, it was _her_ ring.

“And time’s up folks,” echoed the announcer’s voice once again. “All bets have been placed, so let’s get things started! Fighters remember, there are no referees, and no tactics are prohibited. Combat goes until one of you is unable to continue, or gives up. Ready? Begin!”

“Don’t worry,” Ken said, flashing a smug smirk as he took a boxing stance, “I’ll go easy on you. Wouldn’t want to mess up that pretty face of yours. Maybe after this, we go grab a drink upstairs?”

First rule of fight club: beat the ever loving shit out of your opponent. Rose lunged in with a vicious punch, crashing through Ken’s guard straight into his jaw. He reeled backwards, clutching at his cheek and stumbling to keep his balance. Rose held back a lot of power—a full strength punch against a normal non-enhanced person would likely shatter his jaw or plain kill him—but still gave enough to nearly knock him off his feet. She’d be the one taking it easy here. At least, just enough to keep from permanently maiming him.

“Got anything else you wanna add?” she said, raising her fists.

Ken sputtered, turning his head to spit a glob of blood from his mouth. “What the fuck was that!”

“This is a fight remember? Might want to keep that in mind.”

Ken glowered, and shook himself loose again. He took his boxing stance again and attacked with a few quick jabs. Rose dodged them with ease. After the third jab, she darted in with a lightning quick counter of her own, a screaming uppercut that snapped her opponent’s head backwards. He stumbled back half a step, and she followed through with a whirling roundhouse kick to the gut. As Ken doubled over and coughed out a series of choking gasps, quiet murmurs rippled through the audience. Good, she had their attention.

Rose grinned, bouncing up and down on her toes in her own boxing stance. Ken noted the mockery and grumbled, wiping spittle from his lips. After taking a second to get his breath back, he charged. No skill or care this time around—just a wild lunge hoping for the best. Rose sidestepped, keeping light on her feet. She drove her knuckles hard into his side, and felt a rib snap beneath his flesh. Ken staggered, breathless. Time to finish it. 

The moment Ken started tumbling forward, she jumped with a rising knee, cracking a devastating blow into his face. Blood sprayed from his nostrils. With an incoherent cry of pain, he spun to the floor and lay unmoving. Breathing, but definitely down for the count.

“Oh my word!” The announcer's voice screeched out from the arena speakers. “What an impressive show from our newest fighter, Lillian! Honestly, I can’t recall a more one sided fight. I do hope some of you out decided to take a chance on the new girl!”

Rose flipped her hair and marched back through the doors of the arena, towards the locker room at the end of the winding corridor. She’d have her next fight later tonight, whenever the first round of the tournament finished. Three more wins would net her total victory, and the largest possible payout for the night. If the rest of her opponents were that laughable, she had this in the bag already.

“Holy shit!” Sal the manager came running down the hallway, gut hanging out from under his shirt even more than usual. He waved her down outside the locker room doors. “Okay, I take back every doubt I had about you! I mean, that was great! Incredible! Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Rose shrugged, and pushed open the doors. “I’ve been around.”

“Oh, sure, I get it. Gotta keep up the mystery, amirite?” Sal chuckled, following her inside. “But for real, you can bet people took notice of you after that. I mean sure, Ken ain’t close to the best we got around here, but people knew him. Been a pretty prominent fighter around here for a few months now. But then you come in outta nowhere and absolutely dismantle the poor sap! Keep this up, kid, and you’ll be well on your way to the upper brackets. That’s where the _real_ money is!”

“That is the goal,” she said, opening her locker. She dug into her duffel bag and pulled out a bottled water. “I didn’t come here to lose. I came here to make some cash.”

Sal laughed in delight. “Just keep doing what you did to ol’ Kenny, and I’ll see you get there myself!”

* * *

Rose trudged into her apartment some time after three in the morning, but damn had the late night been worth it. Following her bout with Ken, she’d destroyed her next three opponents in the exact same manner, becoming the first person in any bracket of the tournament’s history to win during her debut. Several hours ago, nobody in the Orchid Lounge had heard of her. Now, everyone knew her and what she could do. Over the span of a single night, she’d gone from unknown to favorite. When she went back next week, she’d have a whole hell of a lot more eyes on her.

Her final cash payout that night had been a whopping four hundred dollars. Nothing spectacular, but it was four hundred more than she had going in, and for only a single night’s work she’d take it. Especially considering she wouldn’t be making anything else until next week. She’d barely been able to afford food before tonight, so already this was a step up.

Rose tossed her duffel bag onto the floor of the tiny, one-room apartment she’d barely convinced the landlord to allow her to rent. Water stains blotched across the ceiling, the carpet had been torn and shredded in numerous places, and a congregation of some kind of mold had started forming behind the couch. As she made her way towards the old mattress on the floor that acted as her bed, a cockroach scuttled out of a crack in the wall. She promptly stomped on it.

Just temporary. This was _just_ temporary. Once she started making a steady income, maybe then she could find a place that didn’t look like it belonged on an episode of CSI.

* * *

“Alright, this is it, Lil.” Sal paced across the locker room, wringing his hands together. Beads of nervous sweat dripped down the sides of his face, soaking into the collar of his tacky club shirt. “You debut in the upper brackets tonight, so this’ll be tougher than what you’ve been used to so far. Just remember, I vouched for you to get you here so fast. No one’s ever gone from the bottom rung to the upper brackets in just a month, and I even got you to bypass the mid brackets entirely. So, you know, don’t go getting your ass handed to you and making me look bad, alright?”

Rose glanced up from her taped fists and shot a cold glare at the sweating manager.

“Uh, not that I think you will, of course!” he said, waving off her look with a nervous chuckle. “Let’s be real here, you’re a machine. Four weeks and you haven’t lost a match yet! I tell you, I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“What can I say? I’ve had a lot of practice.”

“Right, right, I’m sure you have.” Sal heaved a deep breath and worked to tuck his shirt back fully into his pants. “Either way, you’re gonna turn a lot of heads tonight, I can feel it. You’re in for a real treat too. You said you wanted to earn some cash? Winners of the upper bracket tournaments can take home five grand on top of bonuses, if the betting’s good.”

Rose straightened at attention, with the mention of potential earnings. Five grand in one night? Now that was something she could live with. Punching a fist into her palm, she shot to her feet and grinned. “Then let’s get this shit started. We’re wasting time.”

Making her way to the center of the arena, Rose squared off in front of her opponent, a shockingly pale, broad and well-muscled man with a red mohawk. He scoffed at her, flexing his muscled chest in some half-brained attempt to intimidate her. She flexed right back, tightening the muscles in her arms. From what Sal had told her, this was a man named Sheamus Finegan, some goon with ties to the Irish Mob. 

Rose only half paid attention to the announcer introducing them and encouraging bets. She focused on Sheamus, watched him take his stance and ready himself, looked for weak points. From the way he postured himself, and the look in his eyes, he didn’t give off the same amateurish air that her previous opponents had. He wouldn’t be underestimating her either, the way Ken had. Good. Maybe he’d actually make her break a sweat.

“And begin!” said the announcer.

Sheamus struck first, darting in with a sharp series of quick punches. He moved like someone half his side, no wasted effort in his attacks. She’d admit, he knew what he was doing. Too bad for him, he wasn’t a genetically enhanced metahuman. And he sure as hell didn’t have the training she’d had. As good as this guy was, by the time he dropped his guard to throw a kick, she had him figured out. Chump didn’t stand a chance.

Rose ducked beneath the kick and countered with a sharp jab to the spleen. Sheamus coughed in surprise and recoiled, but maintained his balance. She’d held back a lot more power in the strike than she needed to. Hell, if she wanted, she could have ended the fight in a single blow. But that wouldn’t make for a good show, now would it? The audience was packed full tonight, and the more they were entertained, the more they’d bet later on. Especially if she gave them the illusion she could lose.

She made a good show of it, leaning into some of Sheamus’ attacks so they hit her. Not enough to do any serious damage—she’d have more fights tonight, after all—but enough that the onlookers clung to the edge of their seats. When she was sure she had them eating from the palm of her hand, she darted in to finish it. In a series of theatrical, and completely impractical spinning strikes, she delivered the final blow to the back of her opponent’s head. Sheamus stumbled and face-planted against the floor, out cold.

The announcer’s voice exploded over the speakers. “And the victor, Lillian Worth! Let’s give her a round of applause, folks, because _that_ was impressive!”

The crowd responded in kind, shadowed silhouettes standing in their seats beyond the glaring arena lights. They applauded, but kept their composure. These were important, dignified criminal scumbags, after all, not a bunch of wild drunks at a UFC fight. Turning on her heels, Rose marched back through the doors towards the locker room to get ready for her next fight, all while the steady applause echoed in her ears.

Now this she could get used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When your name is Rose Wilson and you need to make money, what do you do? Beat the shit out of wannabe fighters, obviously. Here we catch up with Rose after she's left Gotham and just trying to get a foothold in a new city. Silverstone is a city of my own creation, not an existing part of the DCU, so it's as much of a fresh start as Rose can possibly get. I really wanted to separate her from most of the rest of the universe for this next story arc, to really give a sense that she's finding her own way in life now. Expect to see some original characters and villains coming up, and get ready for Rose to discover some twisted secrets beneath Silverstone City.
> 
> I've also gone and removed characters from the tags who only showed up in Rose's hallucinations to avoid confusion. Tags will now only include those characters who physically appear.


	8. Secrets In Silverstone #2: The Worst Kind of Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose meets the owner of the Orchid Lounge and uncovers the man's sinister habits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Triggers for implied abuse/sexual assault of a minor

Rose weaved through her opponent’s attacks. She leaned into one of the blows, just enough to make it look like it hurt, then shot forward with a driving uppercut. Her knuckles cracked into the man’s jaw and snapped his head backward. With a spin, she whipped a kick square into his chest, drove him off balance, and leaped forward with a flying knee strike to the jaw. The man crumpled, coughing a spray of blood when he hit the ground. He didn’t bother trying to get up.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Orchid Lounge, I don’t believe it,” the announcer proclaimed, “but we have our winner of the night! In her debut here in the upper brackets, Lillian Worth has come out on top! Keep in mind she participated in her first fight a mere four weeks ago, and now _she_ is the one to beat! Simply incredible!.

Wiping a line of sweat from her brow, Rose turned and made her way to the doors on her side of the arena. Another series of mild applause rippled through the crowd, and she acknowledged them with a simple raise of her arm. When she made it into the corridor, she stopped a minute and groaned, holding a hand to her back. That would leave a nice bruise to join the others. Maybe next week she wouldn’t let her opponents get in so many free shots; they could hit fucking hard.

As soon as the entered the locker room, Sal was there to greet her with an excited laugh and clap of his hands. “Ha, I knew you wouldn’t disappoint! Seriously, I cannot believe what you just did out there. That was freaking amazing!”

“You mind?” Rose said, throwing open her locker. “Really just want to soak a while in a hot shower.”

“Sure, sure, no problem.” Sal wandered to the side of the locker, hands on his bulging hips. “Just wanted to let you know you really impressed a lot of people tonight. Was talking to some of our esteemed guests of the evening, and they really enjoyed the show you were putting on. Not only can you kick a whole lot of ass, but you look damn good doing it. Keep this up, kid, and you got a real future here, I tell you.”

She shrugged and sat down on the bench in front of her locker. Reaching inside, she dug through her duffel bag for her towel and a bottle of body wash. “Yeah, well I’m hoping I don’t have to keep it up forever. Just want a good bit of cash to last me a while, then I’m taking a break.”

“Whatever you say, Lil. Just passing along the info.”

“Another thing: don’t call me Lil.”

Sal cleared his throat and smoothed out the front of his shirt. “Right, sorry. Lillian.”

“You can leave my earnings in my locker while I shower.” Throwing her duffel bag back into the locker, she stood and started heading towards the showers. “Don’t want to be here any later than I have to.”

“Oh, uh, sorry but no can do.”

Rose stopped mid-stride and spun around. “What you you mean ‘no can do’? I just fought my ass off out there, and you’re telling me you can’t pay me? I thought this was where the ‘real money’ was supposed to be coming in! I swear, if you’re trying to screw me…”

Sal flinched back half a step with a yelp, waving her off with frantic hands. “Whoa, no, nothing like, I swear! I can’t leave you your earnings because the boss wants to pay you himself. Said he wants to meet the new hot shot people are talking about. He’ll be waiting upstairs in his office when you’re done. I can show you where.”

Tension released from her body, and she relaxed. Well, at least she didn’t have to beat this pudgy asshole for her money. “Fine, sure. Just give me fifteen minutes.”

* * *

Pulsing club music assaulted Rose’s ears as she stepped out of the Orchid Lounge elevator. Not too many nightclubs had an elevator, but then it wasn’t meant for the average clubber. It was, however, the only way to access the fight club down below. Sal led her through a crowd of young twenty-somethings dancing the night away on the club floor, past the DJ booth, and through door beyond the bar. They hit a set of stairs that wound upwards to the second floor, leading into a long, dimly lit hallway lined with tacky, abstract paintings and expensive vases.

They came to a thick wooden door at the end of the corridor. Rose squinted in the low light, noting the sign on the door that read: Arnold Pavoni - Owner. Standing outside the door, a pair of tall, bald, massively built men dressed in dark suits watched her, their eyes hidden behind tinted glasses. Hmph, sunglasses indoors—totally not suspicious or douchey at all. Then again, if they were club security, they were meant to look as douchey and imposing as possible, so maybe the whole look worked.

“Alright,” said Sal, “boss is through there. Just keep in mind he runs everything around here, and he’s the one paying you tonight, so try to be respectful and all.”

“Yep, sure thing,” she said, with a flippant wave. She kept her focus on the two bouncers in front of her; neither of them had so much as twitched a muscle since they started glaring at her. Creepy.

“Right, well, he’s waiting, so go on in.” Sal made a gesture, ushering her forward, then awkwardly wandered backwards down the hall.

When Rose stepped forward, one of the muscled goons moved aside and opened the door. His movements were stiff, almost mechanical. Either he was well-trained, or awkward as fuck. As soon as she entered the office, the door slammed shut behind her. The office was a mishmash of odd decorations—everything from sports trophies, to odd paintings, and generic potted plants. An old bolt-action rifle hung from a plaque behind the heavy ebony desk, in between a pair of stuffed deer heads mounted beside it.

A box of cigars lay open on the desk, along with a crystal, gold-inlaid clock, and a Newton’s cradle. A steady _clack-clack-clack_ echoed through the small room, as the outer balls of the cradle swung back and forth. The leather chair behind the desk was turned away from her, hiding the man on the other side, but she noted a winding cord extending from an antique, rotary phone on the desk towards the chair, the receiver clutched in a meaty grip, barely visible around the side of the chair. Must be Pavoni, the owner.

“What’s taking so long, Jerry?” said Pavoni, in a low, scratchy voice. “She ready or what?” A pause, and he reached over to grab a cigar from the box on the desk. “Yeah, I want Holly this time. The one with the different colored eyes. Haven’t seen her in a while, we’ll have some fun.”

Rose hissed a breath out her nose. Apparently, Sal’s definition of his boss waiting for her was making her stand around while he ordered a hooker, or whoever Holly was. Yeah, don’t mind her, just waiting to be paid over here.

“Good, see you soon.” The chair swung around, revealing a heavyset man in a pinstripe suit. His dark hair shined with an oily substance, slicked back atop his head and outlined by a clearly receding hairline and bold widow’s peak. He pulled a lighter out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on, holding the butt of the cigar to the flame. When it began to smolder, he perched the cigar between his lips, right below an neatly cut moustache. Well, the whole Godfather look was an interesting choice, but Rose wasn’t there to judge. “So, you the tough broad I’ve been hearing about this past month?”

“That’s me,” Rose said with a slow nod of her head. She suppressed a rising heat in her cheeks. If someone called her a “broad” one more time, she’d burst a freaking blood vessel.

“Mm, I can tell just by looking at you.” Pavoni flicked the lighter closed and returned it to his pocket, then leaned back in his chair. Gesturing to the television screen on one of the walls, he added, “Saw you in action tonight, and I have to say you put on quite a show. I was skeptical when Sal came to me asking you be rushed into the top bracket, but he was right; you’re one hell of a fighter. Not only that, but you kept the crowd entertained. That’s important. The more they’re entertained, the more they bet. The more they bet, the more money I make.”

Rose brought her hands to her hips. “Let’s be clear: I’m not here to make you money. I’m here to beat the shit out of people and get paid. So let’s not make this more than it is.”

Pavoni puffed on his cigar with an amused chuckle. “Of course, I expected as much. Just thought I should let you know how good you are for business. That means I like you, and when I like you, I pay more. Nico, the safe.”

A jolt fluttered through Rose’s chest, as a massive figure lumbered out of the corner of the room behind her. He looked and dressed much the same as the two men outside, but had to be at least a foot taller, and twice as broad. If he’d been standing there the whole time, Rose hadn’t noticed. Damn Sasquatch hadn’t moved until now, little more than a silent statue.

The massive figure called Nico trudged across the room to one of the paintings on the wall, which he promptly pulled aside to reveal a built-in wall safe. He punched in a ten digit code on the keypad, causing the red light on the front of the safe to ping green. His massive frame blocked any view of the safe’s contents, but he came out with a thick manila envelope clutched in one of his massive, ogreish hands. After setting the envelope on Pavoni’s desk, he locked the safe again and returned to the corner of the room, where he stood like a looming gargoyle, motionless and imposing.

Pavoni opened the top of the envelope and started pulling out stacks of hundreds. When he had a good fistful, he set them down one at a time in a stack in front of him. “Five hundred per victory, that’s two thousand off the bat.” After twenty hundreds, he neatened the stack and began a new one. “And of course a bonus for winning the whole tournament. Usually, that’s another two grand.” Another twenty hundreds, and he began a third stack. “But like I said, I like you, so I’ll throw in something extra.” Yet another stack of twenty. “Brings the total to six grand.”

Rose’s breath caught with a squeak in her throat, as she eyed the enormous pile of cash. Six grand? Six _fucking_ grand? Holy shit, now _that_ was a good night’s pay! A few more payouts like that and she’d never have to worry about living in another cockroach infested apartment again.

Pavoni dug through one of the drawers of his desk and pulled out a second envelope, which he filled with the six thousand dollars. After making sure it was properly sealed, he slid it across the desk. “Again, I want you to know how much you impressed me tonight. Not to mention our frequent clientele.” He gave a pleased grin and took another puff of his cigar. “They love you. You’re young, you’re sexy, and you can knock a man out cold with your bare hands. That’s the kind of thing that really gets them going.”

Rose snatched the envelope and stuffed it straight into the inside pocket of her leather jacket. “Just trying to make a living.”

“Of course,” said Pavoni, with a wave of his cigar. “Now, go get some rest and I’ll see you next week, yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” she said, with a barely contained grin of her own. “I’ll be back.”

With that, Pavoni waved for her to leave. She didn’t waste any time, marching through the door into the dim hallway beyond. Goon One and Goon Two were still standing on either side of the office. She didn’t give them a second look. If not for her own sense of dignity, she might have skipped her way down the hallway. She settled for a bouncing stride.

Her stride slowed, as she noticed something different about the hallway. About five feet away from the office, a young girl wearing a flowered sundress sat on a small wooden chair, staring at the floor and kicking her legs back and forth. A long coil of blonde hair hung down past her shoulders. Odd. The girl couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old, so what the hell was she doing in a nightclub at two in the morning?

She shot a glance back over her shoulder at the goon squad. Could be someone’s daughter. Maybe even Pavoni’s. Not exactly the best place for a kid like that, but she wasn’t exactly in a position to question people’s parenting skills. As she walked by the chair, the girl glanced upward. Rose glanced back. Their eyes met for only a fraction of a second before the girl looked down at the floor again, legs kicking faster now.

Something nagged at the back of Rose’s head, as she wandered the rest of the way down the hall. She paused at the top of the stairs and gave on long look back at the girl. The nagging continued. Damn it, what was it? What the hell felt so off? With a quiet grumble, she finally turned away and continued out through the nightclub. 

Just who the hell was that girl?

* * *

Rose sat on her motorcycle in the middle of the Orchid Lounge parking lot, helmet clutched in hands. She stared at her reflection in the visor, unblinking. The keys were in the ignition, but she hadn’t brought herself to start the engine. The nagging had grown, gnawing at the back of her skull like some kind of diseased parasite.

She was missing something. She _had_ to be missing something. Rose had never been one to have hunches—she wasn’t a detective like Batman, didn’t know how to follow leads—but a bubbling pit at the center of her gut _screamed_ at her to think harder. 

That girl… There was something more to her, something she was overlooking. But what the hell was it? Come on, think. Focus. Figure it out. Rose closed her eye and exhaled. It had been easy to trigger her precognition when she’d been addicted to epinephrine—inhale a dose, sit back, and watch events unfold. She’d kicked that habit ages ago. Since then, it had returned to normal. Just a couple seconds ahead, only when she was in danger. Never saw anyone else’s future. Until Gotham. If Dick was right—if her ability was evolving, getting stronger—she could use it. She could force a vision. She could see _exactly_ what she was missing.

Her arms trembled, as she squeezed her motorcycle helmet so hard the plastic began to warp. Come on. Come on! Her grip slipped, causing the helmet to shoot out from between her hands like a missile, hitting the pavement with a rolling clatter. In the same instant, a flash of images tore through her mind. She saw the nightclub. She saw Pavoni’s office. She saw Pavoni. And the girl. And…

Her eye shot open.

_No!_

Rose jumped off her motorcycle so fast she knocked it off its kickstand. It hit the ground with a metallic crunch. Didn’t matter. Just a stupid bike. She sprinted across the parking lot towards the main doors of the Orchid lounge. Now she knew what had been nagging her. What she’d been missing.

The girl had different colored eyes.

* * *

Rose barreled down the dim hallway towards Pavoni’s office. Voices shouted somewhere behind her, along with the footsteps of half a dozen bouncers chasing after her. Let them follow. They wouldn’t make it in time. The two muscled goons outside the office actually flinched when they saw her. Probably wasn’t every day they saw a pissed off woman charging straight at them. Still, they readied themselves to stop her.

Idiots.

She dropped the pair of them with three well placed strikes each. They staggered against the wall and slid to the floor, groaning in pain on the way down. If they were smart, they’d stay down, otherwise they’d probably end up puking. With the goons taken care of, Rose raised a leg and crashed the heel of her boot into the office door.

Wood splintered between the door and frame as it swung open. The searing fury seething through her flared hotter when she saw Pavoni sitting there in his chair half undressed, his pinstripe shirt unbuttoned. He shot a wild look to the door, eyes widening in shock. Rose didn’t give the sick bastard a chance to process what was happening before she lunged across the desk. She collided with him full force, knocking him from his chair and landing on top of him on the floor.

“You sick son of a bitch!” she shrieked, unloading a wild flurry of blows at the sputtering man. One punch, two punches, three, four. She was crazed, wild, swinging with everything she had. Bone crunched beneath her knuckles with every strike. Within seconds, Pavoni’s face was streaked with a mask of crimson. “You’ll be lucky if I don’t kill you!”

She didn’t hear the commotion at the door. Half a dozen pairs of hands grabbed at her, trying to pull her off their boss. A couple blows cracked into her side, but with the adrenaline burning through her she didn’t feel them. Turning from Pavoni, she threw herself at the security thugs with elbows and punches. She drove a knee into one of their sternums, causing the man to fall back with a coughing gasp. In a short few moments, all six men lay groaning and delirious at her feet.

Rose took three deep breaths to calm herself, before looking back at Pavoni. He lay there on his back, barely moving with blood running rivers down his face. Alright. Okay. She’d done enough damage for now. Gotten it out of her system, at least. There was something far more important to take care of right now.

With a quick look around the room, she spotted her—the blonde girl, standing in the corner of the room quivering with fear, her eyes staring wide at the scene. Two different colored eyes—one green, the other a deep shade of violet. The flowered sundress she’d been wearing earlier lay at her feet in a crumpled ball. Sickness twisted through Rose’s gut, as she crept forward and picked up the dress from the girl. Keeping her eyes focused on the girl’s face, she knelt down and held out the dress.

“I’m not gonna hurt you, I promise. I just wanted to stop the bad man. Put this on, and I’ll get you out of here, alright?” The girl blinked, and after a moment’s hesitation snatched the dress to put it back on. “Holly, was it?”

The girl gave a frantic nod.

“Right, Holly. That’s a nice name.” Rose stood again and gave a deep exhale. She had to get this girl somewhere safe, somewhere she wouldn’t be hurt again. Then, she could come back and finish Pavoni. “Everything will be okay, I swear. No one’s going to hurt you anymore.”

An inhumanly powerful blow exploded against the back of Rose’s skull. She cried out with a sputtering gasp and stumbled forward, dropping to a knee. The room spun. She blinked at Holly, but the girl blurred into several out of focus copies. What the actual hell? Something large and meaty clamped onto her neck and lifted her upright. She choked, gasping for air as her legs kicked in midair. The entire office whirled around her.

Plaster cracked around her body, as she collided with the wall. A massive hand squeezed around her neck. Images slowly came back into focus, enough to make out the massive, looming figure standing before her—Nico, the Sasquatch of a man from earlier. _Fuck_. How on earth was someone that enormous so hard to notice sneaking up on her?

With a shrill cry, Rose pulled back a fist and drove it as hard as she could into the man’s jaw. The blow should have knocked him off his feet. Should have broken his face in half. Instead, Nico’s head barely moved an inch. His expression never shifted—blank, emotionless. Rose pulled her fist back, a flutter leaping into her chest. Okay, not good.

Nico’s grip clamped tighter around her neck. With one wild motion, he swung her into the air and drove her clean through the desk in the center of the office. Thick, heavy ebony ruptured. She hit the floor with an explosion of searing pain, blood spraying from her lips. The room shifted out of focus and started spinning again.

Pavoni coughed, slowly crawling to his knees. “You little cunt!”

He scrambled to his feet, almost falling again before catching himself against the wall. When he had his balance, he limped over to Rose and delivered a solid kick to her face. Her head snapped to the side, as a rainbow of colors erupted through her vision. Pavoni backed away with heaving breaths.

“Fucking Christ,” he muttered, wiping the sleeve of his shirt over his bloodied face. “I need to get cleaned up. Call Jerry, have him take Holly back. And send this bitch to Mordred, tell him I got another subject for him."

Rose made one more desperate struggle, bashing both her fists against Nico’s trunk-like arm. He didn’t flinch. His grip remained like iron, pinning her helpless to the floor. Whatever kind of freak this was, he was definitely enhanced in some way. You didn’t get this kind of strength from eating your spinach.

Pointing a glare towards Pavoni, she growled at him, seething ire pouring from her words. “You will _suffer_ for this! You hear me? If it’s the last thing I fucking do!”

Pavoni scoffed, wiping at his face again. “Don’t worry, it will be.”

Rose looked upward in time to see Nico’s fist crash square into her face. A white flash exploded through her vision, and she fell limp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, there's some messed up things going on in this nightclub. And the city as a whole, but more on that later. Rose has always had a soft spot for kids. She was Lian Harper's nanny, she helped stop a trafficking operation in her mini series, so the one thing that's going to piss her off more than anything else, in my mind, is someone hurting kids. Especially like this. Now she has some motivation to get involved and stop this twisted asshole, and quite frankly, it'll be well deserved.


	9. Secrets In Silverstone #3: The Doctor Is In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose avoids an unnecessary operation by a crazed doctor and learns more about what Pavoni is up to.

Rose blinked awake, blurry images slowly focusing in her vision. Throbbing tore through her skull. Fuck, that Nico guy hit like a freight train. Definitely a metahuman of some kind. She blinked a few more times until her vision cleared. A blinding white light shone straight down on her from the ceiling, forcing her to squint and turn her head away. The room was large, with white tiled walls lined by various medical equipment. She spotted an IV drip, a scrub sink, some kind of storage cabinet, and a blinking monitor. Cluttered atop a nearby table, she noted a row of disturbing surgical instruments—scalpels, forceps, saws, and a massive drill.

Alright, so she’d been knocked out and woken up in a B-grade horror flick. Awesome.

Releasing a pained groan, Rose attempted to sit up. She didn’t budge. She tried again with the same result. Glancing down at herself, she saw why. Thick, heavy leather straps wrapped across her arms, wrists, waist, legs, and ankles, binding her to a surgical table. Also, her clothes were gone, because this situation couldn't have possibly gotten  _ any  _ worse.

She dropped her head back. Okay, so she was strapped naked to a table in an operating room, in some kind of shady medical facility owned by a pedo crime boss, with no idea where she was or how to get out. Great. Fucking  _ great _ . She couldn’t help anyone like this.

As she began contemplating her escape plan, a calm, grainy voice reached her ears. “Ah, you’re awake. Good. I was wondering when I’d have a chance to begin.”

Rose moved her head to the side, spotting a thin man dressed in medical scrubs, a white lab coat, and latex gloves. A stethoscope dangled around his neck, and his dark hair was streaked grey in places, standing wildly on end as though he’d never washed or combed it in his life. A milky white glaze clouded one of his eyes, which wandered off in a completely different direction than the other.

“And who the hell are you supposed to be?” she said, tightening her hands into fists. She flexed her muscles briefly, testing the strength of the leather straps.

“A good question, my dear.” The crazed doctor took a step forward, coming to the edge of the operating table. “I am Dr. Mordred. A pleasure to be acquainted with you.”

The doctor took an overly theatrical bow. Coming out of the bow, he moved to the nearby table and began sifting through the medical instruments. He paused at one of the scalpels, inspected the blade, and then moved on to the saw. Rose followed him with her gaze. Whatever he planned on using those tools for, she was not about to sit back and find out.

“You are truly a fine specimen,” Mordred stated, giving the saw in his hands a disturbing caress. “But I heard you won tonight’s tournament. Makes our meeting premature. Unusual. Must have done something to upset the boss, yes. You wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

“The fuck are you babbling out? And why am I strapped to a table?” She flexed her arms again, eliciting a strained creak from the leather straps. “And for that matter, where the fuck are my clothes?”

The doctor chuckled, turning a cold eye towards her. “No worries, no worries. I merely need a way to properly perform my work. Can’t have you thrashing about or anything naughty like that. And the subject doesn’t wear clothes during surgery.”

“Right, because that’s not creepy at all.”

Giggling like a delighted child, Mordred grabbed a syringe and poked the needle into a clear liquid. “Don’t fret, my dear. It will all be over soon. I promise, you won’t feel a thing.”

When the syringe was full, he pulled the needle out of the bottle and flicked it, removing excess droplets from the tip. Turning back to his restrained patient, he took a few careful steps forward. Rose instinctively tensed, her gaze locked on the syringe.

“Whatever the hell you think you’re doing,” she said, tightening every muscle in her body, “you keep that thing away from me.”

“What, this?” Mordred eased the syringe closer. Again, Rose flinched, and a smirk of intrigue crawled over the mad doctor’s face. “Ah, does it bother you? Yes, I see. Trypanophobia, fear of needles. Quite common, actually. But I wonder, were you born with it? Or perhaps it was brought on by some traumatic experience?”

Rose grit her teeth. “I don’t need the psychoanalysis, Doc.”

“No, no, of course not. I am only here to work, after all, so let’s get started, shall we?” Mordred used his free hand to push her head to the side. With his other, he pointed the needle at her neck. “Just relax.”

She gave another flex of her arms. “One quick question for you, before you stick that needle in me.”

The doctor paused, raising an eyebrow. His milky, dead eye twitched slightly. “Alright, go ahead. One question.”

“Are these straps really made of simple leather?”

“Why, I don’t know if—what do you mean?” Mordred glanced down at the straps binding Rose to the table with a puzzled squint. “I fail to see the relevance of—”

“So they’re not reinforced to hold down someone with metahuman levels of strength?”

“Well, I’m not sure if—why do you ask?”

Rose grinned. “Oh, no reason.”

Clenching her fists harder, Rose gave her entire body one more vicious flex, straining her arms and legs outwards. The bindings shredded beneath her strength, tearing free from the table in one loud leathery snap. She shot a hand forward, clasping her fingers around the doctor’s throat. He giggled in surprise, syringe falling free from his grip. Leaping from the table, she shoved him backwards.

“No! Please—I can’t—let me go!” Mordred’s words came out in sputtered gasps, as he smashed into the medical cabinet behind him. “Not—not supposed to happen. Not supposed to happen!”

Rose lifted the doctor from his feet with a single hand, pinning him to the cabinet. His legs dangled in midair, kicking wildly. He coughed again, and she slammed him back for good measure. The metal dented around his body.

She glared at the man, and squeezed her fingers tighter. “You’re gonna answer a few questions for me, got it?”

With a desperate sputter, Mordred frantically nodded. “Of course! Of course! What—ack—whatever you need!”

“Good.” Rose eased her grip, letting the man drop to his feet. Still, she kept him pressed against the dented cabinet. “First, what is this place?”

“Oh, this?” Mordred’s eyes darted around the lab. “Just a special facility. Secret, built underground. Not known to many. I work here, do what I’m told.”

“And it’s run by Pavoni?”

“Ah, yes, he owns it. Sends me his subjects. I work on them, and give him the results.”

Rose furrowed her brow. “What subjects? What for?”

“The fighters, the ones from the tournaments, yes?” Mordred fidgeted in her grip, swallowing a nervous lump. “You know them. The top ones he lets keep fighting, lets them make money for him. But the failures? He sends them to me, has me make them better.”

“Better, how?”

“I make them stronger. Faster. How do you call it? Enhanced! Yes, yes, enhanced. That’s a good word for it. But the success rate is low, most don’t make it.”

An image of a giant fist screaming towards her face flashed through her head. Not her precog, but a memory. “Like that guy he has with him, Nico?”

“Ah, yes!” The doctor’s eyes glowed with delight. “My first success! Very good, very strong, but not so bright. Not supposed to be.”

“Not supposed to be? What, you do something to their heads?”

“I… Well, maybe. I just make them listen, that’s all.”

Heat burned through Rose’s cheeks. Her fingers tightened again. “You mean you brainwash them. Make it so Pavoni can control them?”

He slowly nodded. “That is an apt way of putting it, yes.”

“Why? What’s he need with a bunch of brainwashed metas?”

“For muscle, yes? Why else? He has plans, rivals, needs the firepower, so to speak.”

“What plans? What rivals?” Her fingers tightened further, squeezing a shrill squeak from the man’s throat.

“Ah—please, I don’t know! He tells me little, understand? I’m just the doctor!”

Rose slackened her fingers, easing out a grumble of annoyance. Even if Mordred was lying, it didn’t matter what Pavoni’s plans were, or why he wanted meta bodyguards. She’d be ending him far before that became an issue. “And the girl, where is she?”

The doctor’s brow twisted. “What girl?”

“The girl!” She pulled him back by the neck and slammed him again into the cabinet, ringing the room with a metallic clang. “Don’t play dumb!”

“Ah, I swear!" he shrieked. "I have no idea what—”

“Her name is Holly! She has two different colored eyes!” Another slam, another whimpering cry from the doctor. “Your boss is using her for—he’s—!” The rest of her words caught with a shrill choke. She slammed Mordred one more time into the cabinet. “Just tell me where she is!”

“I don’t know!” he pleaded, gasping for air in her grip. “I haven’t seen her in weeks! They come through here, I do my work, and I send them back! That’s it! You understand, yes?”

Numbness crawled into Rose’s throat with a breathless squeak. “Them? There’s  _ more?” _

The doctor’s lips trembled, his eyes darting wildly in different directions. “O-only a few! Yes, a few, now and then. They come in, Pavoni tells me to do my work, so I listen. He pays me, I do the job! Simple, yes?”

The heat spread through her jaw, burning like wildfire. “What work? What the hell do you do to these kids!”

“I-I-I-”

“Spit it out!”

“I remove their vocal cords!” he blurted, through tears. “They make no noise that way, yes? That’s all! Nothing more!”

Rose heaved several deep breaths, a futile attempt at calming herself. Her muscles began to twitch, a hair’s breadth away from snapping. “Why would he want you to remove their vocal cords?”

“Because, Pavoni, he—” Mordred swallowed, another whimper quivering from his lips. “He doesn’t like it when they cry out.”

Rose screamed. She clamped her fingers so tight around the doctor’s throat, his eyes bulged. He gasped and sputtered, but she didn’t care. With a guttural roar of fury, she whirled the man around and threw him with all her might across the room. His body crashed through an IV stand, skidded across another surgical table, and slammed into the opposite wall with a sickening crunch. Spidery cracks ruptured through the tile on impact. He began twitching when he hit the ground, but was otherwise unmoving.

“Damn it!” Rose drove her fist against the cabinet, caving a massive dent into the metal. She’d never been a crier, but she couldn’t stop the hot tears of rage from stinging her eye. She blinked them away the best she could, and gave the cabinet one more vicious punch. These fucking people—they were sick. Twisted, and sick, and she would stop every last one of them, or die trying!

An image of Holly, frightened and alone, flashed through her mind. Again, not her precognition. Just her own guilt in failing to save the girl. But this wasn’t over. Not yet, not while she was still breathing. She’d find Holly, whatever it took, and she’d save her, along with all the other children Pavoni had hurt. And once she’d done that, she’d fix everything else wrong in this godforsaken city.

Rose found her clothes stuffed in a storage locker. She dressed herself quickly, still pulling her arms through her jacket sleeves on her way to the door of the operating room. She paused a moment before leaving, her gaze falling on the table cluttered with medical tools. Might as well. Grabbing a pair of scalpels, she continued through the door into a hallway beyond.

The corridor was empty, running straight in either direction with blank white walls and ceiling. Rose glanced back and forth. No windows, and no other doors along its entire length. Well, this place definitely had the whole secret underground facility feel down. But which way to go…

A steady, blinking red caught her attention. She looked up, towards the ceiling directly across from the operating room. A security camera pointed straight at her. Well, shit. That probably wasn’t good. Sure enough, the sound of voices and hurried footsteps reached her ears, echoing down the left end of the corridor. She turned her attention in time to notice a group of four men running around a corner, all of them armed with pistols.

To the right, then! Rose sprinted down the hallway, ignoring the men’s shouts for her to stop. By the time she reached the next corner of the corridor, she’d already doubled the distance between them. No telling how eager these guys were to use their firearms, but if they expected to catch up to her, they were in for a rude awakening. As long as she didn’t hit a dead end, in any case.

Rose tore around the corner into another corridor, same bland white construction as the previous. Still no windows, but she did spot a couple other doors—thick, made of metal, with electronic security panels. Probably wouldn’t be breaking through them any time soon, so better keep going. She sprinted to the end of the hall to another bend. She turned the corner.

Another group of guards met her—three men, all wielding batons. She skidded to a halt mere feet from them. They stared at her a moment, blinking in surprise. Then, they cracked their batons, causing the tips to crackle with sparks of electricity. Oh, freaking  _ wonderful _ . Shock batons. The men swarmed in at her, prodding with their sparking weapons. 

Oh, she so did not have time for this shit. Rose ducked and weaved around their attacks, pushing their arms away and countering with swift, precision cuts with her scalpels. Within seconds, all three men were tumbling to the floor bleeding from deep incisions on their wrists and ankles. Not enough to kill them, but they wouldn’t be picking up any weapons or giving chase any time soon.

As she moved to pick up her pace, a small white card caught her attention, attached to the belt of one of the men. She instinctively snatched it and continued her sprint. With any luck, this card was exactly what she thought it was. The corridor came to a swift end at a set of large metallic double doors. Sure enough, she found a security panel next to it, complete with a thin slot to swipe a card. She swiped the one she’d taken from the guard, causing the red light above the doors to ping green. Not wasting any time, she threw the doors open. 

Gunshots sounded behind her. Bullets pinged off the side of the door, inches from her head. Rose frowned, snapping a brief glance over her shoulder to see the other four men in hot pursuit. No time to deal with them. Had to keep going. She found herself in a winding stairwell, spiraling dozens of stories upwards. From what she could see at the bottom, there didn’t appear to be any doors on any of the landings. No other levels to this facility. Just the one, buried far deep underground. Time to get to the top.

Three floors up, another two men appeared from above, racing down towards her. More gunshots, more bullets ricocheting off the railing next to her. Fucking assholes. Slowing her stride, she flipped one of the scalpels in her hand and chucked it at the nearest guard. The medical blade pierced the man’s wrist, eliciting a pained cry as he dropped his pistol into the free air at the center of the stairwell. Rose stuck out her hand and snatched it from the air.

Rose had never liked guns—too simple, too boring. Slade had always mocked her for it, claiming she wasn’t any good with firearms. Let him think that. She handled a gun just fine; they’d simply never appealed to her. But right now, with no other weapon than a single scalpel, the pistol offered a blanket of security. 

Leaning over the railing, she took aim and fired off several shots. Both men above her reeled backwards, bleeding from fresh bullet wounds in their shoulders and thighs. Nothing fatal—clean through-and-throughs, assuming she’d aimed right, and she always aimed right. Her pace quickened again, carrying her into a full sprint past the bleeding men. Nothing between her and freedom now other than empty air.

* * *

With deep, heaving breaths, Rose shoved open the door of the building. She trudged to the sidewalk, leaned against a lamp post, and turned a look over her shoulder. The building looked condemned and abandoned, a graffiti covered mess of crumbling brick and boarded windows. No better place for an underground hideout, apparently. Too bad the security sucked.

Raindrops pattered against her face, falling from a dark sky. Not a heavy rain. More of a drizzle. The feel of the raindrops hitting her skin soothed her, washed away that mounting fury that had fueled her escape. Fuck, she needed some sleep. If she was sure she could get to Pavoni tonight, she wouldn’t bother, but the Orchid Lounge would be closed by now, and she didn’t know where he lived. On top of that, she was exhausted, dazed, sore, and absolutely starving. Hell, she’d just fought her way out of a secret criminal facility with nothing but a couple scalpels and a pistol. Just needed a little rest, then she’d track down Pavoni and finish what she started in his office.

Rose limped down the sidewalk. Throbbing pain pulsed through her, the lingering effects of Nico’s beating. The anger and adrenaline had pushed all that away in Mordred’s lab, but now it all came screaming back. She’d have to settle her score with that Sasquatch, too. No doubt he’d be guarding Pavoni when she found him. No surprises this time, though. Now that she knew what she was dealing with, she’d tear that ogre of a man apart.

“You’re dead, Pavoni.” With a deep breath, Rose dropped the pistol and the remaining scalpel into a puddle on the sidewalk. “I swear to God, you’re dead.”

* * *

“Well, that’s unfortunate,” muttered the man, watching from a car across the street. How many guards had that girl taken out during her little escape? Probably took care of Mordred, as well. That certainly complicated things. With a light sigh, he pulled out his phone and made a call.

Several moments of quiet ringing later, Pavoni’s voice yelled over the phone. “What the fuck is it, Jerry? I’m trying to sleep!”

“She escaped,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

A dead pause followed, before Pavoni finally spoke again. “And how the fuck did that happen? Where’s Mordred? And what about security!”

“You should have checked up on her a bit more, before sending her straight to the facility. She isn’t normal.”

“The fuck you mean she isn’t normal?”

Jerry rolled his eyes. Such a useless, pig of a man. “I mean, she’s a metahuman. After everything she did in your tournaments, I’d have thought it obvious.”

“Well fuck!” Pavoni said. “Is she gone? Can you find her?”

“I assure you, I’m working on it.” Reaching into the glove compartment of his car, Jerry pulled out a small, laminated piece of plastic. “I’m disappointed, though, Arnold. You should have done a better job checking her background before you let her into your tournaments.”

“What do you mean?”

Jerry flipped the laminated card around and read the name on the front of the license. “For starters, her name isn’t Lillian Worth. It’s Rose Wilson.”

Pavoni uttered an indifferent grunt. “So, what’s that got to do with anything? Plenty of people lie about their names in my tournaments, never makes a difference. It’s their ability in the arena we’re after, not their names.”

“Well, you’d have learned some intriguing facts about her if you’d bothered to run her name through my files,” he stated. “I took the liberty myself, after you sent her to Mordred.”

“Alright, fine, humor me.”

“Ever hear of a man who calls himself Deathstroke the Terminator?”

Pavoni paused, a mutter of thought coming in over the phone. “Sure, right, the crazy mercenary who wears a mask, right? With the one eye? Some kind of super soldier or something, real cold blooded.”

“Yes, and do you know his real name? It’s Slade. Slade  _ Wilson.” _

Another long pause, as the wheels in Pavoni’s empty head began to slowly turn. “The fuck—Are you telling me—?”

“Yes, Arnold.” Jerry sighed, tossing the license back into the glove compartment. “She’s his daughter, and according to my files she’s been enhanced with the same super soldier serum as Deathstroke. Are you starting to realize why sending her to  _ my  _ facility was such a stupid move? You should have killed her.”

“Well shit,” Pavoni muttered. “If I’d known that, I would have.”

“But you didn’t know, because you were sloppy. You didn’t do your homework, and now I’m cleaning up your mess. Again. I’ve put up with your screw ups for a long time, Arnold. I’ve even entertained your disgusting habit. But that’s only because I needed your resources. The moment you become more trouble than you’re worth, I’m done with you. Keep that in mind."

On that note, Jerry hung up. He sat there in silence, listening to the steady patter of rain against the windshield. He glanced at the clock: three forty-seven A.M. Still another few hours until sunrise, plenty of time to make things right. Pushing his glasses higher on his nose, Jerry shifted his car into drive and sped down the road. He still had work to do tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing says bad hangover like waking up on an operating table with a crazy doctor. We learn some more here about Pavoni's operations, as well as the twisted things he's been having Mordred do. But we also learn that in spite of Pavoni's machinations, he's apparently not the one in charge. Or rather, someone else is using him the same way he's using his own underlings. Who is this Jerry, and what does he have planned? Keep reading (when I get around to the next chapter) to find out!


	10. Secrets In Silverstone #4: The Man In The Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager finds herself attacked in her apartment, and is forced to make a deal with a mysterious man in order to get to Pavoni.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Triggers for implied abuse/sexual assault of a minor

Ravager stood in full costume at the edge of the rooftop, gazing out onto the streets below. The rain had picked up in the past twenty minutes or so, now opening a near torrent from the early morning sky above, still dark before sunrise. What she wouldn’t give to be able to sleep right now. If not for the car she’d noticed creeping along the street fifty yards behind her the entire walk back to the Orchid Lounge to recover her motorcycle, and the following ride home, she would have already passed out. Whoever was driving it must have thought they were smart, constantly slowing down, stopping, doubling back down side streets. But they always reappeared, same car, same distance away. Now wasn’t the time to get tired, with someone following her.

So, after her pursuer had made a couple passes outside her apartment and disappeared, she’d gone up to grab her gear and ditched the place. Now she waited for the inevitable. Probably close to five in the morning, but with the clouds and the rain you couldn’t tell. Wouldn’t be any noticeable sunrise this morning. The dark car reappeared around the corner of the street and parked next to the sidewalk, one building away from her apartment. The headlights extinguished. Alright, so now what?

Movement caught her attention. Ravager ducked low against the rooftop parapet and peered over the top, noting a shadowed figure creeping towards the ledge on the roof of the building next to hers. The figure carried a long object held over its shoulder. She kept silent, watching, waiting.

A hot flash sizzled with a spark of orange fire and the shriek of an object rocketing through the air. A projectile launched from the figure’s device and tore across the street, straight through the window of the apartment on the other side. Fire and force erupted from the building, walls and windows exploding outward with a deafening boom. When the impact settled, flames licked up at the charred walls. And just like that, her rathole of an apartment had gone up in flames. 

An RPG-7, huh? Talk about fucking overkill. Granted, probably would have worked had she been sleeping in there. Fortunately, she’d been ready. Leaping over the side of the parapet, Ravager dashed to the next rooftop and drew both swords from her back. The shadowed figure cleared into the form of a burly man in military-style coat, straps and pouches dangling from his waist. The expended RPG-7 lay discarded near his feet, while he now clutched a massive sniper rifle mounted against the building parapet, aiming at the destroyed apartment.

The man heard her boots racing across the wet rooftop too late to swing the sniper around. The best he could do as she lunged in with two sweeping cuts of her swords was throw himself away to avoid the razor steel. She settled for battering the rifle off the roof, causing the weapon to tumble into open air onto the sidewalk below.

“A rocket launcher _and_ a sniper rifle?” Ravager said, with an exaggerated flourish of her blades. “Gotta say, I’m flattered. Too bad it wasn’t enough.”

The man said nothing. He merely stood there, readying a stance for her to attack. Well, at least she didn’t have to waste time talking. She bolted inward with a pair of overhead swipes, aiming to cripple the bastard’s shoulders. With a speed belied by his bulky frame, the man lashed out his arms and caught her wrists. He squeezed with an iron grip, and with inhuman strength threw her backwards across the roof. Ravager landed on her heels in a crouch, sliding across the rain-slick surface. That kind of strength—well beyond even her own.

“So, you’re one of Pavoni’s meta’s too, huh?” Ravager took a new stance, one sword tilted further forward than the other. “Good. Guess that means I can take things up a notch.

She darted in again, quicker this time. The goon took a swing, but she dropped to her knees to avoid it. The rain carried her momentum, as she slid in low beneath the man’s guard. He sidestepped, but she lashed out a pair of slashes through his coat. Blood sprayed the air, quickly washed away into nothing by the pouring rain. The man stumbled. He turned, raised a boot to stomp her. Perfect opening.

As soon as the man’s leg raised, Ravager twisted herself on the surface of the roof and sprang upward boot-first. Her heel cracked into his jaw, snapping back his head and knocking him further off balance. He caught himself against the parapet and grunted, blood oozing from a cut on his jaw. As much as she’d put into the blow, the man shrugged it off with a single shake of his head and readied himself again. Poor bastard actually thought he had a chance.

Ravager sheathed her swords and charged the man. He pulled back a fist, probably expecting her to make another calculated attack. The flinch of surprise on his face told her he hadn’t expected her to throw her entire body at him. The two collided with a dull crack of bone and flesh. Her opponent was bulky and tall—too bulky to have good balance, and so tall his center of gravity was well above the top of the parapet. They tumbled into open air, the meta falling backwards, she poised on top of him.

Metal crunched and glass shattered as the man’s body exploded against the hood of a dark car below. Ravager kicked off at the moment of impact, flipping onto her feet on the sidewalk. The man didn’t budge. He remained unmoving, crumpled into the dented hood with all the force of a meteor colliding into the earth. As soon as Ravager was on her feet, she drew one of her swords and pointed it at the shattered windshield of the car, circling around towards the driver side door.

“Out of the car,” she said, glaring through her mask at the obscured figure sitting within. _“Now.”_

A pause, and then the figure inside shifted. Another man, this one thin and wearing a long dark overcoat, shoved the door open with a groaning creak of warped, dented metal. He flipped a bowler hat onto his head, and pushed a pair of wire rim glasses further up on his nose as he stepped into the rain. An amused sort of grin painted subtly on his narrow, clean-shaven face, noting the broken man smashed into the hood of his car.

“Well, I see you took care of Drasko quite handedly. Most impressive.” He looked to her, his grin fading into a more stolid expression. “Your reputation certainly precedes you, Rose.”

Ravager kept her blade pointed at the man’s throat. “How do you know my name?”

“Oh, I have my sources. Rose Wilson, also known as the Ravager, former Teen Titan and daughter of Slade Wilson, also known as Deathstroke.” The man opened one side of his coat and reached into the pocket. Ravager tensed, prompting him to raise his hand and move slower, pulling out a small laminated card. “And I will say, this certainly helped.”

He flipped the card at her and she caught it with her free hand. Her frown deepened at the sight of her own name on the license. “I really hate it when people go through my shit. So, who are you? One of Pavoni’s goons?”

“Not quite,” he said, straightening out his coat. “My name is Jeremiah Belmont, but you’re more than welcome to call me Jerry.”

“Well, _Jerry_ , you have about ten seconds to come up with a reason why I shouldn’t maim you for trying to kill me.”

Jerry eyed the point of the blade hovering a few inches from his throat with a bemused raise of his eyebrow. “Ten seconds? My, we are impatient, aren’t we?”

Without the slightest shift in demeanor, Ravager pressed the edge of the sword against his neck, close enough to draw the tiniest dribble of blood. “Five seconds.”

“Well, if you insist.” Jerry rolled his eyes and raised a finger, pushing the blade a couple inches away from his throat. “I can give you Pavoni.”

Ravager frowned, narrowing her glare behind her mask. “You’d sell out your boss?”

“My boss?” A brief, sharp laugh burst from Jerry’s throat. His glasses slipped, and he pushed them back up his nose. “Please. That man doesn’t have half the brains it takes to run what you’ve stumbled into. He’s a figurehead, nothing more.”

“If he’s not the one in charge, who is?”

“Oh, I could tell you, but I’m afraid that isn’t part of the deal I’m trying to strike.”

“Then you’d better come up with something else.” She pressed her blade back, forcing the man to lower his finger or risk slicing it open. “I don’t need you to find Pavoni. I know where he works.”

Jerry sighed, calmly taking off his glasses to wipe the wet, fogged glass clean against his coat. “True, yes. However, I can give you where he lives. There’s a lot that can happen between now and whenever you decide to make your move on him. You wouldn’t want to fail because you waited too long, would you? I can have you at his place before the sun rises.”

Ravager’s grip on her sword shuddered. The man had a point; there _was_ a lot that could happen even in a day. If she waited too long, and more of those kids got hurt… 

“I sense uncertainty.” Jerry replaced his glasses on his face and offered a shrug. “Perhaps you’d like to know the location of the children he keeps?”

Her focus narrowed. Shooting her free arm forward, she grabbed the man by the collar of his coat and pulled him close. “Tell me where they are. _Now.”_

He wagged a finger at her. “Not until we agree on the terms. If I tell you where they are, you leave me unharmed and go on your way, as though we never crossed paths.”

“Give me Pavoni’s address too.”

“Very well.” Jerry smirked, as Ravager let him go. He took a moment to smooth out his coat and said, “Pavoni lives in a mansion a short ways outside Silverstone. It’s secluded, out of the way, surrounded by acres of private property.”

“The _address.”_

“Yes, yes, I was getting to that. You can find it at 237 Willow Lane in the town of Hawthorn. Should be only a twenty minute drive or so on that motorcycle of yours, if you break a few traffic laws. You do have a phone with GPS, I presume?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said, tightening her grip on her sword. “And the kids—where are they?”

“A sub-level beneath the Orchid Lounge, one floor under the fight club arena, reachable by elevator. Requires a properly encoded keycard in order to access.”

“And where am I supposed to find one of these special keycards?”

Jerry reached back into his coat and pulled out another card, this one blue with a magnetic strip on one side. “Why, it just so happens I have one right here.”

Ravager snatched the card and gave it a close look, noting the Orchid Lounge logo printed on one side. “Why the hell do you seem so eager to help me?”

“Let’s just say Pavoni has become far more trouble than he’s worth,” Jerry said, with a flippant wave of his hand, “and it would be beneficial if he were to disappear. In any case, I think we’re done here. I’ll be taking me leave.”

Jerry turned his back to her and moved away. She immediately stepped after him, drawing her second sword. “Not so fast. What makes you think I’d actually let you walk away?”

“Not our deal, clearly,” he said, with a light sigh. “But you know it wouldn’t help you. You can’t waste time beating me into submission, and even if you did, there’s no guarantee I’ll still be here when you get back. You certainly aren’t going to prioritize me over saving those children and dealing with Pavoni. Plus, it’s been approximately six and a half minutes since Drasko launched a rocket into your apartment. The building is catching fire, and police will be here shortly. Something tells me you don’t want to risk being here when they show up.”

Ravager stared at the man for a good five seconds before pulling her blades away and sheathing them. “We’re not done, you hear? Once I’m done with Pavoni, I’m coming for you, and whatever other operation you’re working on in this city.”

“Oh, I’m looking forward to it.” Giving a casual wave, Jerry trudged off through the rain and disappeared into an alley.

“Smarmy prick,” she muttered, taking off down the street, towards where she’d parked her motorcycle. She could be at the Orchid Lounge in ten minutes if she drove fast enough.

* * *

Ravager’s precognition triggered the moment she kicked in the front doors of the Orchid Lounge. No question the place still would have had some sort of security even when closed, but the storm of bullets that went off seconds after she darted inside was not what she’d been expecting. Automatic weapons opened fire, tearing bullets clean across the open dance floor. Ravager ducked low behind a thick leather lounge sofa and tables with upturned chairs.

An annoyed grunt bubbled through Ravager’s chest, as she military-crawled across the floor. Fuckers had been waiting for her. Well, there was some extra motivation to find Jerry and give him some payback when all this was over. First, she had to take care of these trigger happy assholes.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, cease fire!” called a voice over the chaos. The gunfire died away moments later. “We’re supposed to be keeping damage to a minimum! God fucking—that new couch is gonna come out of our paychecks! And the photo wall—fuck guys, come on!”

A few sheepish responses mumbled through the darkened interior, as the guy apparently in charge ordered them to spread out and find her. Ah, the old split up and become easier targets routine—her favorite. Ravager darted silently behind counters, under tables, and anything else she could use as cover to keep the men from seeing her. Several of the gunmen caught brief glimpses of her form disappearing into the shadows and turned to gasp aloud or fire off a stray shot.

She struck when the men had suitably spread out. Poor bastards were nothing but a bunch of idiots with guns. Easy pickings. Putting on her best Batman impression, Ravager kept quiet and hidden, taking down each guard one at a time. A couple blows to the back of the head here, a choke hold there, and within minutes most of them lay unconscious on the floor.

The final gunman noticed her in time to fire off a couple shots, but she slid beneath his aim and delivered two crippling kicks to both of his knees. Bone crunched upon impact, prompting the man to crumple screaming in pain. She put him temporarily out of his misery with a hard jab to the temple, knocking him out cold. Standing, she looked around, one hand grabbing at a sword behind her back. No sign of anyone else.

“I’d tell you all not to quit your day jobs,” she said, walking over one of the men on her way towards the elevator, “but really, you should just find new jobs altogether.”

Once inside the elevator, Ravager pulled out the keycard and swiped it in the slot next to the numbered panel. A loud ping echoed from the panel, and the elevator rumbled into motion, heading downward. Well, at least Jerry hadn’t been jerking her around in that regard. Once she had these kids out safe, she could track down Pavoni and make sure he never hurt anyone like that again.

Ravager pressed herself to the side of the elevator, as the doors pinged open. But there was no gunfire, nothing to hide from. A moment crawled by. Another moment. A third, and finally she poked her head out. A dark corridor greeted her, completely empty with several doors on either side down its entire length. No guards, though. No gunmen waiting to mow her down when the elevator opened. Almost disappointing, really.

With a careful glare, she crept into the corridor. Each of the doors had a clear glass window. She gave a close look into each room beyond, as made her way. Kitchen, bathroom, playroom, dining area—each one twisted her stomach into a tighter and tighter knot. That sick freak… He locked them up, gave them nice things, all while using them. All while keeping them as his personal slaves.

By the time Ravager made it to the door at the end of the hallway, her face burned. Her fingers clenched into and out of fists, unsure whether they wanted to relax or claw into her own palms out of sheer disgust and rage. She made an attempt to push the door open, but it was locked. No window on this one, either. With a furious shout, she lifted her leg and smashed the door with her heel. It flung open, almost tearing off its hinges as it swung all the way into the wall it was attached to with a crash.

She flicked on the light switch next to the entrance, and instantly her throat froze with piercing numbness. Six beds lined the walls of the room. In each bed, a child, anywhere from eight to twelve years old. Half of the children were boys, the other half girls, all dressed in pajamas and sitting upright wide awake with fearful stares directed at her. She took a step forward and they all flinched, lifting their blankets higher as though to protect themselves.

“It’s okay,” she said, raising a gentle hand. She tore off her mask so they could see her face, and dropped down to one knee. “My name’s Rose. I’m not here to hurt you. I’m gonna get you all out of here.”

The children looked at each other, but they didn’t say anything. Rose gave a careful squint. On each of their necks, she noticed a small scar. Her gut dropped. They were surgical scars, where Doctor Mordred would have removed their vocal cords. They couldn’t answer her even if they wanted to.

A precognitive flash tore through her mind. Not this time! She threw herself forward, rolling halfway across the floor as a giant fist cracked into the tile where she’d been kneeling a second before, ripping open large cracks from impact. Nico pulled his fist back and lumbered into the room, his massive frame blocking any escape through the door.

Rose sprang to her feet and took a combat stance. “Everyone to the back of the room!”

The children listened, all scrambling out of their beds towards the back corner, where they huddled together watching the scene.

“Alright, Sasquatch,” she said, holding out one of her hands flat towards the oversized meathead. She promptly made the “bring it” gesture, inviting the bastard to try. “Let’s dance.”

He glared at her. After a brief moment of nothing, he charged forward with a winding swing of his trunk-like arm. Rose ducked and spun around behind him. In the same motion, she cracked a thunderous knee up into his gut. She might as well have kneed a metal beam, for all the good it did. Without so much as a flinch, he turned and made another swing. She evaded again, this time countering with a draw of her swords. She flipped the blades around and jammed the pommels as hard as her strength could muster into the joints of his elbows.

Something cracked in Nico’s arms. A sound like a bleating goat roared out of his throat as he stumbled into the wall, his arms hanging limp at his side. There, just had to find the right spot to strike. This guy had strength in spades, but he was slow, and stupid as hell. Not so much of a challenge when he couldn’t sneak up on her. Flipping her swords back around into position, she thrust them forward, driving sharpened steel clean through either of his thighs. She withdrew them with arcs of blood spraying in their wake. Nico crumpled, struggling to get up.

“Alright, everyone out!” she called, motioning for the kids to run. “To the elevator!”

Her voice snapped them out of their frozen terror. With raspy, barely audible gasps, they scrambled away from the back corner and ran down the corridor towards the elevator. Rose gave Nico one last kick to the back of the head for good measure, before sprinting after them. Putting back on her mask, she ushered them into the elevator, took them back to the main floor of the Orchid Lounge, and guided them outside into the parking lot. Thankfully, the rain had let up into a light drizzle at this point.

Pulling out her phone, Rose punched in 911 and waited for the dispatcher to pick up. Thirty seconds later, police were en route. When she put her phone away, she gave a quick glance around the group of children. “Alright, police are on their way. I’ll stay with you until then, but—”

She paused, narrowing her gaze at the kids. Not six kids. Five. Two girls, three boys. Had she counted wrong? No, there’d definitely been six beds. But then… “Holly. Where’s Holly?”

The kids blinked at her in confusion, no one able to answer.

“You know, Holly. She’s one of you. She—blonde hair, two different colored eyes? Tell me you know her!”

One of the boys wandered up to her, frantically waving his arms to get her attention. His lips moved, but not sound came out.

“Alright, hold on.” Rose pulled her phone out again and opened a text app. Passing it over to the boy, she said, “Type it out.”

The boy quickly punched his thumbs across the keys and passed back the phone to her. When she read the words, the breath left her throat.

_He took her._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we get to see a little more of this mysterious Jerry, who seems to know a lot more about what's going on than Pavoni ever did. As he said, Pavoni's nothing but a figurehead. But that doesn't mean Rose is going to veer off track to chase this new guy. She has kids to save, and a disgusting man to take down first. Fortunately, she's able to find the children here and get them to safety. Most of them, anyway. Come back next time to see Rose confront Pavoni and try to rescue Holly.


	11. Secrets In Silverstone #5: Out of the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager confronts Pavoni at his mansion in an attempt to save Holly and put a stop to his twisted operations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Triggers for implied abuse/sexual assault of a minor

Fifteen minutes after she made the call, a Silverstone PD squad car pulled up in the parking lot of the Orchid Lounge. A pair of ambulances pulled up with them, with EMT’s getting out immediately to check on the children. Sure did take their damn time getting here. That was fifteen minutes Ravager could have used getting to Pavoni. Fifteen minutes she could have used saving Holly. Still, she couldn’t have left the kids here without supervision, not after what they’d been through. But now that the cops were here? She could finally get a move on.

As Ravager hopped onto her motorcycle, one of the officers scrambled out the driver’s side of the squad car. “Hey, hold up! You the one who called this in?”

Pulling on her helmet, she gave a side glance at the overweight officer trotting up to her. “Uh huh. Kids are safe, and you’ll find the guys who’d been holding them inside, along with a shit ton of other shady business. Do your job, investigate, and make sure these children get taken care of. I still have work to do.”

“Excuse me, Miss, but you’re not going anywhere,” said the officer. “We’ll be needing to take you in for questioning.”

A second officer emerged from the squad car, standing with the door open and an arm resting on the roof. Unlike the first officer, who fit the classic “I ate too many donuts on the job” description of a cop, this woman was tall and fit, with tawny skin and a mane of curly brown hair tied back in a loose ponytail beneath her uniform hat. She gave a narrow glare over the car at Ravager. “Like what you’re doing dressed up like that, for starters. You do know it’s illegal to carry a blade over three inches in length in this city, ah?”

Ravager ignored them, revving the engine of her motorcycle. “I don’t have time for questions. Just take care of the children.”

The overweight officer placed a hand near his hip, hovering over the pistol in his holster. “Miss, step off the bike and put your hands up. I won’t tell you again.”

“If you want to stop me, you’re gonna have to shoot me.” She turned a slow glare towards the two of them. The second officer had stepped away from the squad car now, making her way towards the group of children huddled outside the pair of ambulances.

The first officer undid the latch holding the gun in its holster. “I don’t want to, Miss. Come quietly, and we don’t have to resolve this with violence.”

“Marco, settle down!” called the second officer. “Let’s not go shooting people in front of the kids, ah?”

The officer named Marco turned his head to look at his partner. Ravager stole the opportunity, lashing out with kick from atop her bike. Her boot caught the back of the man’s knee—not enough to hurt, but enough to make him stumble off balance. Before he could recover, she revved her bike and took off towards the street.

“Shit!” Marco said, clamoring back to his feet. He looked to his partner. “Chavez, call that in! We got a lunatic on a motorcycle heading west!”

* * *

The cops never had any hope of catching her. By the time any call would have gone out, she was already halfway to Pavoni’s mansion outside the city. With the near non-existent traffic this early in the morning, she tore down the freeway nearing 200 miles per hour, until she needed to turn off the exit. Twenty-five minutes after she left the Orchid Lounge, she pulled up out front of a gated, private road, surrounded by forest. 

The road itself was made of neatly cobbled brick, rather than simple pavement, and the gilded gate stood between a high stone wall that stretched as far as she could see in either direction. Jerry hadn’t been kidding when he said Pavoni’s place was secluded. Perfect. There’d be no interruptions out here. Nothing to slow her down. 

Ravager hopped off her bike momentarily to deliver a whirling kick at the gate. The metal bars caved inward with a creaking bang, as the entire gate tore off its hinges and slammed onto the ground. With the way clear, she got back on her ride and took off down the road. A secondary gate met her half a mile later, within sight of the residence beyond. The massive, overly elaborate Victorian mansion stood maybe fifty yards away, along a rounded path lined with fountains and marble statues. A wall of hedges stood on one side of the front lawn, and on the other a flowering garden.

How suitably gaudy.

She stopped her bike outside the gate. Same as the road, another wall encircled the property, blocking entry to unwanted outsiders. Well, blocking entry to most normal people. With a glance towards the top of the wall, she noted a security camera pointed straight at her. Shouldn’t have expected to break in unnoticed. If the thugs at the Orchid Lounge had been waiting for her, chances were this place had its own security ready for her too. At least she’d already taken care of Nico.

Removing her helmet, Ravager walked up to the front of the gate and gave the mansion a careful look. The rain had stopped by now, and the clouds overhead had begun to clear, giving way to the dim light of early morning. The mansion stood on a raised foundation, a set of stone steps leading upward towards the entrance, with waist-high walls running along the ledge that overlooked the main pathway and lawn down below. Even from here, she noted movement behind the walls—men in dark suits carrying automatic weapons, spreading out to cover the property. Well, at least they were making her work for it.

With a single thunderous kick, Ravager smashed open this gate the same as the first one and darted onto the property. Precognitive images flashed through her mind immediately, visions of bullets raining down from atop the walls in front of the mansion. She threw herself behind a statue lining the main pathway seconds before chunks of marble exploded under siege of gunfire.

Fuckers didn’t know who they were dealing with. No one was keeping her from Pavoni. Not now, not ever. These bastards didn’t know how to do anything other than point and shoot. They had no training, no coordination, didn’t try to flank her, or flush her out. They stood there on their walls firing until they emptied their clips and had to reload. Nothing more than hired thugs.

The instant the gunfire paused, Ravager darted out of cover and sprinted across the lawn, behind the walls of hedges, around a fountain, and through a copse of apple trees. By the time she made it to the wall in front of the upper terrace, the men were scrambling to reposition themselves for a better shot. She didn’t slow when she hit the wall, leaping forward with her feet planted against the sheer stone. She continued running vertical for several feet and launched herself into the air, flipping above the nearest gunman to her. The man stutter-stepped and brought his weapon up for a clear shot, but she whirled out a kick in mid-air to knock the weapon away. When she landed on the patio, she delivered two crushing elbows to the man’s chest and head, dropping him into a heap.

The next couple men spread out and fired. She’d already seen it. By the time they aimed and unloaded, she had already raced to the side and kicked up off the wall of the mansion, throwing off their aim long enough to land next to one of them and cripple his kneecap with a brutal stomp. The other guard apparently thought this was a good time to take another few shots at her. Ravager threw herself behind another gaudy statue, leaving the man whose knee she’d just crippled alone to take the entire barrage from his buddy. Apparently, this would be a hell of a lot easier than she’d thought—idiots were shooting themselves now.

She heard the gunman cease fire and scream out in shock over his mistake. Well, at least he felt bad about it. Seizing the moment of his distress, Ravager whirled out from behind the statue and kicked the man square in the chest. The gun flew from his hands as he spun backwards over the ledge onto the ground some fifteen feet below. She shot a look to her left, in time to see another handful of guards rushing in her direction. By now, they seemed to realize how much shit they were in. They moved more cautiously, guns at the ready, and stuck close together.

But there were only four left. Ravager jumped straight upward, grasping onto the bottom of a balcony above her. With a single kick of her legs, she swung upwards out of sight. Gunfire exploded, as did the wooden floor of the balcony beneath her. But she’d already seen where the bullets would be. She sprinted at top speed across the balcony and flung herself into the open air, flipping behind the group. They were still firing up at the balcony when she landed. By the time they realized where she’d gone, she’d already battered two of them into unconsciousness at her feet. The remaining two whirled around in a panic, and with a single, vicious swing of her arms, she smashed their heads together. They crumpled bleeding to the ground.

“I am getting _so_ sick of people shooting at me today,” she muttered, as she made her way to the front entrance of the mansion. 

With a thrusting kick, the heavy oaken doors crashed inward. A bang echoed through the open foyer beyond. Two winding staircases spiraled upwards in front of her, towards an overhead balcony that overlooked the entire foyer. A crystal chandelier dangled above an exquisite Persian rug at the center of the floor, glittering the rest of the open marble with twinkling sparkles. Dim morning sunlight streamed in through a set of tall windows lining the walls. Might be a nice place, if not for the disgusting horror hiding within.

“Pavoni!” She waited, listening to her voice echo like thunder through the foyer. No response. “Pavoni! Get out here, you son of a bitch!”

Still, nothing. Was worth a try, in any case. Hissing out a hot breath, she walked into the center of the foyer, keeping a careful watch for any movement. Pavoni wasn’t getting away. Not this time. Halfway across the Persian rug, a gunshot rang out. She didn’t even need her precog to avoid it, as the bullet sailed wide. An expensive-looking vase near the door exploded, shattered bits of clay bursting across the marble floor.

“Damn it!” called Pavoni’s voice, somewhere above her. “Do you have any idea how much that cost!”

Ravager snapped her gaze towards the balcony, catching sight of the fat cretin peering over the balcony with a handgun pointed downward. Dark bruising blotched his face, remnants of the beating she’d given him earlier. “You’re the one who shot it, dumbass!”

Pavoni fired again, but Ravager darted behind a display case for cover. The bullet ripped into the case, causing an explosion of shattering glass. A third shot, and a stuffed bear’s head on the wall fell free from its plaque. By the time the fourth missed its mark, Ravager eased out of cover, glaring daggers at the man through her mask. Bastard was a terrible shot.

Ravager raced towards the winding stairs leading to the balcony. A fifth shot rang out, this one ricocheting off the railing with a shower of sparks. Apparently realizing he wasn’t going to hit her, Pavoni swore and ran down the second floor hallway. He disappeared through a door, slamming it shut behind her. She quickened her pace, and four seconds later she lowered her shoulder and body-checked her way through, tearing the door from its hinges in a spray of broken splinters.

A master bedroom greeted her, complete with overwrought canopy bed with leopard print sheets against one wall. At the back of the room, a sliding glass door led out to another balcony, overlooking a pool in the backyard below. And standing in the middle of the room, pressing his gun against the head of a young girl clutched in his grasp, was Pavoni. 

“Take another step and I blow her brains out!” he said, cocking the hammer on the gun.

Ravager glanced from the gun to Holly. The poor girl stood there in tears, wearing the same white dress as earlier. She didn’t so much as twitch, standing frozen in Pavoni’s clutches. That fucking prick… “Holly, it’s going to be alright, you hear me? I’ll get you out of this, I promise.”

Pavoni scowled. Removing the gun from Holly’s head, he pointed it at Ravager instead. “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep, you lousy bitch! Do you know how much trouble you’ve caused me? How much  _ money  _ you’ve cost me? By the time I’m through with you, you’ll wish you’d never been born!”

Ravager’s body burst into action the moment the gun moved away from Holly’s head. That would be Pavoni’s _last_ mistake. Pavoni reeled back a step, caught off guard at the speed she charged him. He managed a single shot before she closed the distance. This time, he actually hit something. The bullet ripped through her armor, embedding square into her left shoulder. She didn’t even feel it. With a furious, wild scream of rage, she buried her fist into the man’s face. The man flew backwards, losing his grip on Holly and flipping off his feet. When he hit the ground, Ravager pounced on him, holding him down by the throat with one hand. With her other, she pummeled blow, after blow, after blow into his face. Bone crunched beneath her knuckles.

“No!” Pavoni hacked, through sprays of blood. His nose snapped, flattening against his face. “Fuck! Stop!” A following jab to the throat shut him up with a hoarse series of sputtering coughs.

“I told you I’d make you suffer,” she said, gritting her teeth with an anger she hadn’t known for a long, long time. “Time to make good on that.”

Grabbing him by the shirt collar, Ravager picked up the disgusting pig of a man and threw him as hard as she could through the air. He crashed into a door on the far side of room. The door ruptured, and he rolled into the bathroom beyond. He twitched momentarily in desperate attempts to get up, but she forced him back to the floor with a stomp to the back of his head. A smear of crimson spread beneath his face in a rippling pool.

“You’re insane…” he uttered, lifting his head from the floor. Blood rained free down his face and jaw. “Fucking psycho!”

“You don’t know anything about me, Pavoni.” Drawing one of her swords, she thrust the point into the back of the man’s thigh; he screamed, flailing about the floor in agony. “But allow me to explain a few things.”

Removing the blade, she lifted Pavoni up by the neck and smashed his face into the edge of the sink. Porcelain cracked and exploded on impact, with another grievous spray of crimson from the man’s mouth. “I hate killing, you know. I really do. Mostly has to do with my father; he’s a real cold blooded bastard, and for the longest time I tried my damndest to be as different from his as possible.”

Pavoni gurgled on a mouthful of blood, deep, languished breaths heaving from his chest. Ravager put a knee to the man’s back and grabbed his arm. With a firm, brutal yank, the limb snapped. He screamed louder, sputtering in tears. “For a while, it worked. I didn’t kill anyone, no matter who I thought deserved it. Thing is, I came to realize over time that I wouldn’t be able to stick to that policy forever. Especially not when I was on my own, without anyone with a better moral compass around to keep me grounded.”

She lifted Pavoni from the floor and shoved him into the glass door of the shower. The door shattered, tearing open the man’s flesh with razor shards. With a weak squeal of pain, he crumpled in front of the drain. “I tried so hard—so  _ fucking  _ hard—to be as different as possible from my father that I wasn’t being true to myself. I wasn’t being my own person. My experiences—everything I’ve been through in my life—have shaped me.”

She grabbed his shirt again, lifting the man to his knees. He swayed there, barely able to hold himself upright, both eyes swollen shut. The man was broken, beaten, near death. She drove her fist once more into his face. His jaw cracked and hung loose from the impact, another streak of blood raining free from his lips.

“Through those experiences, I’ve built my own moral code, one I choose to follow.” Ravager sucked in a deep breath to calm the rapid beating of her heart. “See, it isn’t the act of killing itself that’s difficult. No, it’s what comes after, knowing I have to live with the consequences of taking a life. It’s all a matter of asking myself if I can deal with it. If I can cope with that decision. That’s why, most of the time, I don’t kill. But sometimes?”

Clamping an iron grip around Pavoni’s throat, she dragged him towards the toilet. She forced his head down, holding his face into the water. “Sometimes, there are people who just plain don’t deserve the air they breathe.” Pavoni fought the hold. He kicked, and flailed, his entire body going into desperate spasms. Tensing her muscles, Ravager held firm, her grip unyielding. “The list of people I’ll kill is pretty small. I’ll kill if I have to, for example. If my life depends on it—me or the other guy. But then, there are people like you. People who take advantage of children. _Hurt_ them. Rob them of their innocence. You’re the lowest kind of scum on this earth, Pavoni.”

Pavoni’s struggles grew fiercer, more frantic. His body shuddered, and his legs kicked, as the toilet water bubbled around his head. 

“A lot of my fellow heroes would call this murder. But you know something?” Ravager squeezed her fingers tighter around his neck, gritting her teeth so hard her jaw popped. “I don’t care what they’d think. I’m on my own now, and I’m doing things  _ my  _ way. To me, this is the first step in righting all of your disgusting wrongs.”

As the moments ticked past, Pavoni’s flailing grew weaker. His body fell limp, arms and legs twitching at random as life left him. Eventually, he grew still. Cold. Ravager stood there staring down at the toilet bowl, watching the water no longer bubbling with the man’s frantic cries for air. Nausea churned deep in her gut, but she swallowed it down. Didn’t matter what anyone else would say. She’d done the right thing, and no one could tell her otherwise.

Releasing Pavoni, Ravager wandered out of the bathroom. Sharp pain screamed through her shoulder, as the adrenaline drained from her body. That bullet was going to be a bitch to pull out. “Holly? Holly, you there? It’s alright, you can come out now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

A blond head poked out from behind the bed. The girl paused a moment, before cautiously walking into the center of the room. She hiccupped, and wiped at the tears streaking her cheeks. Ravager removed her mask and took a knee in front of her.

“You’re safe now,” Rose said, with a smile. “I promise.”

After a brief second of dumbfounded staring, Holly ran across the room and dove into Rose’s arms. Silent sobs choked out her throat. A sharp stab of pain pulsed through Rose’s shoulder when the girl hugged her, but she ignored it. She wrapped her good arm around the girl and hugged back, offering whatever small amount of comfort she could give.

Rose let the girl cry for a few minutes before returning to her feet. With Holly staring up at her, she held out her hand to hold. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”

A flash of images tore through her mind. But they were different again, more than a few seconds. She saw a leaking gas pipe, a man in the mansion’s kitchen, a newspaper stuffed into a toaster. The newspaper sparked with flames, and then…

“Hold on!” Rose lifted Holly into her arms and sprinted at the glass door separating the bedroom and the balcony. Turning her body to shield the girl from impact, she crashed through the glass, ran to the edge of the balcony, and leaped into open air.

The mansion exploded behind her. Fireballs erupted out the windows, as a cacophonous shockwave pushed her farther and sent her into an uncontrolled spin midair. The world lurched wild around her, but she held tight onto Holly the entire way down. A wet splash surged around her ears as they hit the pool water, and for a moment Rose lost track of which way was up. When her equilibrium returned, she kicked to the surface and dragged the utterly horrified girl to the edge of the pool.

When she had Holly safely out of the pool, she crawled out after her. The gunshot wound on her shoulder screamed, stabbing needles through her entire left arm as she collapsed face-down. With deep, heaving breaths, she forced herself to roll over onto her back. Every muscle in her body burned. Holly appeared in her vision, gently shaking her to get up. Kid was going to have to wait a minute.

“Just a second…” she wheezed, with a weak raise of her hand. “Need a breather.”

The sound of steady, rhythmic clapping surged renewed focus through her. Bolting upright, she shot a look towards the now burning mansion, consumed by a blazing inferno. Standing there, at the end of the pool, was a man in a dark overcoat, glasses, and a bowler hat. Jerry smirked, and strolled towards her, bringing his hands together the entire way with the same steady, mocking applause.

“Once again, Rose, you do not fail to impress,” he said, finally lowering his hands to stuff them into his coat pockets.

Rose coughed, clamoring to her feet. She drew one of her swords and put herself in front of Holly. “Stay behind me, Holly.”

Jerry hummed, lips pursing together. “Killing you is proving to be quite the challenge, it seems. You’re a bit like a cockroach, and cockroaches need to be squashed.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She took a step forward, pointing the blade at him. “Give it your best shot.”

He offered a small chuckle and shook his head. “Oh, no. You see, unlike our dearly departed Pavoni, I know my place. I’m not going to beat you in a fight, that much is clear.”

“Yeah, I figured as much. Guess you shouldn’t you have shown your face, then. We still have unfinished business, if you recall.”

“Oh, that I do.” Jerry tilted his head, pushing his glasses higher on his nose with a finger. “Which is why I brought backup.”

A thunderous crash tore through the mansion, as one of the burning walls exploded outward in a spray of brick and mortar. Flames parted around a monstrous figure. Standing in the middle of the newly created hole was a hulking behemoth of a man. Not even a man, really—more a monster, a towering mountain of muscle and flesh standing fifteen feet tall, with a brutish, ogre-like face. Portions of his flesh had torn open in places, exposing the red sinew of muscle beneath. The monster grunted, and stared straight at Rose.

“You like him?” Jerry said, giving the monster a grin. “One of our newest metas, fresh out of the facility. The new formula we used was a bit unstable, though. He wasn’t supposed to mutate like that, but beggars can’t be choosers. He’s still far more advanced than our previous efforts, and he listens to commands just fine, despite his limited intelligence. I call him Blockbuster, after those other brutes created in a similar fashion.”

Ravager’s gut dropped out. She took a step backwards, urging Holly to move with push of her arm. Well, fuck. Shit had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

“Blockbuster-” Jerry raised a hand and snapped his fingers- “Kill her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we finally have Rose putting an end to Pavoni once and for all, and coming to terms with the lengths in which she's willing to in order to stop the true scum of the earth. My goal here was to sort of expand on the catharsis she experienced in her mini series, Fresh Hell, when she killed the man ultimately responsible for the trafficking operation she uncovered. It's all about whether or not she's willing to live with the consequences, and in her mind, when the benefits of the outcome outweigh the guilt she might feel for taking a life, that's when she brings herself to go through with it. As long as she's staying true to herself and her own morals.
> 
> Also, Jerry's back. Because what an asshole, am I right?


	12. Secrets In Silverstone #6: The New Cape In Town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose barely escapes the fight at Pavoni's mansion with her life, and afterward makes a life changing decision.

The hulking monstrosity known as Blockbuster charged forward with a bestial roar, swinging a massive arm through the air. Rose grabbed Holly and pulled the girl away, while rolling out of range of the strike. Blockbuster’s muscled arm clobbered the siding of the pool with an explosion of concrete shards. The fucker was fast—way faster than the previous goons like Nico, and from the looks of it, a whole fuckton stronger, too. Rose’s entire body burned with every movement, but she grit her teeth and pushed through it. Couldn’t let something stupid like a little pain stop her, if she was going to survive this.

“Holly, run!” she urged, pushing the girl back a step. “Get as far away from here as you can!”

Holly looked up at her in a panic, and tugged at her arm.

“I can’t go with you right now!” Rose darted away from Holly, and Blockbuster gave chase. Good, focus on her, not the girl. “Just run!”

After a series of sharp, rapid breaths, Holly turned and sprinted around the pool, through a gate at the edge of the backyard, and into the forest trees beyond.

Rose flipped over another brutal swing of the monster’s arm. Her knee buckled when she landed, causing her to stumble back a step. Beating this asshole would be hard enough in top form, but with her current injuries? Fuck, this was going to suck. Blockbuster raised both fists and swung them down at the top of her head. Rose threw herself to the side and swung her blade to counter. Razor steel clanged against taut muscle, barely leaving a scratch as it bounced away from her target.

“Well, shit,” she muttered, ducking beneath another wild attack. She dove forward between Blockbuster’s legs and sliced at his ankles. Maybe if she struck the more vital areas…

Again, her blade clanged away. Blockbuster turned and roared at her, swinging his leg square into her chest. Breath burst out her lungs, and she lost her grip on her sword. The blow launched her into the air. Fuck, fuck, fuck! She’d seen the attack coming, but her body hadn’t responded, merely floundering with exhausted stumbles. Rose crashed through the roof of a nearby gazebo. Wood ruptured around her form, and she plummeted to the ground with a loud crunch of bone.

Well, fuck.  _ That  _ was a broken arm. Rolling out of the collapsed wooden structure, Rose forced herself back to her feet. Sharp, stabbing pain fired from her fingertips to her shoulder of her left arm. Lucky enough, she’d broken the one already ruined by a gunshot, so she still had one good arm to work with. Better than nothing.

Blockbuster leaped through the air, a giant mass of muscle and rage aiming to flatten her into the dirt. Rose dove, hitting the ground again in a desperate roll. Thunder cracked through the earth where she’d been standing half a second before, a crater caving beneath the monster’s bulbous feet. He turned and swung madly at her. Again, she dodged, fueled by desperation and flashes of precognition in her head. She stumbled and heaved, lethargy crawling like ice through her muscles. Fuck, she couldn’t keep this up much longer.

The next attack, she didn’t so much evade as she did fall out of the way of. Her feet slipped in the dirt, and she dropped to a knee. No, come on, keep moving! Couldn’t stop now! She made a desperate lunge to get away, but her leg quivered. With a lurching spiral, her body slumped into the dirt. Blockbuster pounced, scooping up her limp form between both is bulging, meaty hands, each of his fingers a rigid iron bar wrapping around her body. A guttural, monstrous chuckle bellowed from his throat as he lifted her up to his ogreish face. Then, he began to squeeze. And squeeze harder. And harder.

Rose screamed. Her bones caved and cracked beneath the grip. With an instinctive flex of resistance, she pushed back, but the force intensified. Burning agony erupted through her entire body. Slowly, surely, he would squash her into a bloody smear. 

No, no fucking way. Not like this, not after everything she’d been through! This bastard was _not_ killing her today! Stupid, ugly, son of a bitch! Twisting her body as best she could in the vice-grip, she wriggled her good arm free, just enough to reach behind her back. She’d lost one sword already, but that’s why she carried two. Blockbuster roared at her and tightened his grip. She screamed again. Through her scream, she yanked free the remaining sword from its sheath on her back and thrust it forward.

Blockbuster’s roar shifted from wild rage to pain, as the point of the blade pierced his left eye. His grip eased, and a second later he released her. Rose dropped to the ground, every nerve ending in her body searing with agony. But she couldn’t stop. Couldn’t let up. Blockbuster stumbled back a step, raising a meaty hand up to the sword now embedded in his eye socket. The blade had pierced only a few inches—not enough to reach the monster’s brain, but enough to remain stuck in the socket.

As soon as Blockbuster’s palm made it to the sword handle, Rose sprang upwards with a rising kick. Her boot struck the back of the monster's hand, forcing it towards his face with a sudden, violent lurch. His palm struck the hilt, and pushed the sword deeper. With a sickening, but oh so satisfying squelch, the blade drove into the monster’s skull and pierced out the other side.

Blockbuster stood frozen for several seconds, a dazed, blank expression drooping over his face. A bloody gurgle belched from his throat. Then, he teetered. Back and forth, back and forth, until finally the hulking mass of muscle crumpled backwards to the ground with a thunderous crash. Rose heaved with exhaustion, and fell to her hands and knees.

“Fucking. _Asshole,”_ she muttered, through sputtering coughs.

Rose breathed deep. Something in her chest popped, causing her to hunch forward with a cringe. Two coughs later, she vomited a mess of puke and blood into the grass. Okay, so that problem was out of the way. Now she could take a breather. And find Holly. Get them both to safety, maybe a hospital. Just a few seconds and she’d be back on her feet.

A pair of boots stepped into her vision, accompanied by the sway of a long overcoat. Above her head, she heard the click of a gun cocking. “It would be so easy to kill you right now.”

Rose groaned, tilting a glance upwards. Jerry stood above her, sunlight reflecting off his glasses in a way that hid his eyes. He pointed a revolver at her, only a few inches away from her skull. Frowning, she spit out the remainder of blood and bile from her mouth onto the ground at his feet. Oh, right. Still had to deal with this prick.

“But then,” he mused with a contemplative purse of his lips, “perhaps you’d disarm me before I can pull the trigger?”

“You wanna find out?” Rose twitched her fingers, arms shuddering to hold herself upright. No precognitive flashes entered her mind, which meant either he wouldn’t get to pull the trigger, or she was so wiped her power didn’t feel like triggering. Which meant she was fucked. She’d call it a coinflip, whether or not her body would function if she tried to disarm the man. “Give it your best shot.”

Jerry stared a long moment. Ever so slightly, his lips tilted into a grin. With a twitch of his hand, he pulled the gun away and took a step back. “I guess we’ll never know.”

“What, that’s it?” Rose frowned, a shudder rippling through her chest. “Just gonna walk away?”

“Killing you now would be in poor taste. You’re a worthy adversary, Rose. I won’t do you the injustice of putting you down like a dog.”

“Says the man who tried to blow me up.”

“Yes, and you survived!” he declared, with delighted point of his finger. “Then, even beaten and battered as you were, you killed Blockbuster and came out alive. You are exquisitely impressive. Putting a bullet in your head now would be a waste. Consider this mercy a reward for your triumph today.”

Rose glared, and slowly shifted upright. Her entire body shook on the way to her feet, but she got there all the same. Pain and broken bones be damned. “Don’t think this means I won’t still bring you down if I ever see you again.”

“I would expect nothing less, Rose. And to be honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Jerry turned and took a few steps away, only to pause and glance back at her. “By the way, you may want to gather what strength you have left and get out of here. This is a secluded location, yes, but home explosions only go unnoticed for so long. I’m sure the authorities will be here soon.”

“Shit,” she muttered. With a heaving, strained breath, she stood straight and fought to stop her exhausted swaying. Still had some left in the tank yet.

“Oh, and that girl you went through so much trouble to rescue? You should probably go find her before she gets lost in the woods. Would be a shame for something else to happen to her now.” With that, jerry offered a flippant wave and marched around the side of the burning mansion, out of sight.

Gritting her teeth, Rose turned and hobbled towards the treeline, where Holly had run off to. “We’ll meet again, Jeremiah. Count on it.”

* * *

“Holly!” Rose called, as she stumbled her way through the wild terrain of the forest. “Holly!”

She staggered from tree to tree, holding herself against each trunk for several seconds before she found the strength to push off and find her way to the next one. She tripped over roots, slid down hidden embankments, and even trudged through a small swamp in her search for the missing girl. Every step she took was a nightmare of pain and nausea. Every inch a battle. She’d been out here a half hour now, and the fact her body hadn’t yet shut down was a freaking miracle. Thank her super soldier enhancements for that.

“Holly...” she called again, this time her voice nothing more than a hoarse whisper.

Still nothing. Even if Holly could hear her, she wouldn’t be able to answer. The best thing Rose could do was hope they stumbled across each other, or that maybe she would spot the girl somewhere through the trees. Rose fell against the side of a hill, flopping into a wet carpet of leaves. She lay there a moment, before forcing her arms to move. Inch by painstaking inch, she crawled her way up the hill, through the dirt. She made it halfway before her muscles gave out. With a weak groan, she rolled back down the hill, landing on her backside at the base of a tree.

Not now… Please, not now. She had to get up. Had to keep moving. Had to  _ save  _ that girl. So, why couldn’t she move? Why, when she had to fight the hardest, was the entire world going dark? Rose lay her head against the dirt and closed her eye. With one more heaving breath, consciousness slipped away.

* * *

Rose blinked open her eye. Her vision blurred, drifting in and out of focus for several seconds. When the world finally cleared, a blazing noontime sun glared down from above, half blinding her. With a narrow squint, she shifted onto her elbows. What had been fresh pain before had shifted into overwhelming stiffness and lethargy. Every twitch of her muscles shot lightning through her core, to the point where even turning her head to look around might as well have been a ten round fight against Superman.

Her breath caught in her throat, as she looked next to herself. Another form lay there, sound asleep with her arms hugging Rose’s side. Letting her head drop back to the ground, Rose uttered a relieved chuckle and patted the top of the sleeping girl’s head. “You found me. Good girl, Holly. Good girl.”

Alright, she’d found Holly. That was one problem taken care of. Still a few more, though. For one, she could barely move. Two, they were lost in the middle of the woods. And three, if Rose didn’t get her own injuries treated soon, she probably wouldn’t heal right. Or she’d die. Neither one of those options sounded great. Well, shit. Guess there was no other option.

With an annoyed grumble, Rose reached to the belt of her costume and fumbled her fingers inside one of the compartments. She didn’t exactly have the selection of gadgets Batman did, but she did have one trump card still up her sleeve. Not that she’d ever wanted to use it. She pulled out a small round communicator, outfitted with the recognizable Bat Symbol on the cover. Dick had practically forced her to take it when she left Gotham, just in case of emergency. Suppose it would actually come in handy here. Pressing the call button, she dropped the device to the ground next to her head and lay still.

A hum of static hissed from the speaker, followed shortly after by an urgent voice. “Rose! Is that you?”

“Well, what do ya know,” she said, with a weak laugh. “Thing still works even after an explosion. I’ll hand it to you, Grayson, you build them to last.”

“An explosion—Rose, what happened! Is everything alright?”

“Yes and no. Listen, I’m gonna need a favor. How fast can you get that Bat-Jet of yours out here for a pickup?”

A brief pause followed, before Dick’s voice returned. “The coordinates say you’re more than 300 miles from Gotham.”

“Yeah, so sue me. Just answer the damn question.”

“Maybe a couple hours? Faster if I push it. What’s wrong?”

“Look, I’ll explain when you get here. Just please-” She raised a hand to her forehead, fighting down the onset of a dull throbbing deep in her skull- “I could really use some help right now.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Just hold on.”

* * *

Dick arrived an hour and a half after the call. Another hour after that they found her a change of clothes, came up with a story, and got both her and Holly to a hospital in Silverstone City. Only once Rose knew for certain Holly was being taken care of did she allow the hospital staff to treat her, pumping her so full of medication she passed out immediately after.

She awoke roughly six hours later, lying in a hospital bed. The room was dark, and yet at the same time weirdly inviting. As much as she hated hospitals, she found a strange peace here. Being here meant she was safe—that  _ Holly  _ was safe. She’d succeeded, and Pavoni was gone. No amount of pain and terrible hospital food could take that away. Letting out a long yawn, she raised her good arm and wiped the sleep from her eye. Her broken arm lay stiff in a cast at her side.

“Finally awake?”

Still halfway through her yawn, Rose looked to the corner of the room to see two individuals. Dick sat calmly in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. Behind him, Cassandra Cain stood with her arms folded. As soon as Rose saw her, Cass smiled and gave a wave.

“Oh, Cass,” she said, with a tired blink. “What are you doing here?”

“Heard you were hurt,” Cass said. “Wanted to see you were okay. Friends, remember?”

Rose huffed, and yet oddly enough found a coy smile curling across her face. “Right, friends. Thanks.” Looking to Dick, she said, “So, you’re still here? Thought you’d have gone back to Gotham ages ago.”

“I wanted to make sure things went as smoothly as possible,” he replied, standing up from his seat. “I’ve been answering police questioning all day.”

“So, they bought that I found Holly being assaulted by street thugs in an alley?”

“And that they shot you and roughed you up when you tried to intervene, yeah. Explains your injuries.”

Rose nodded. “And then you showed up and ran them off. Good.”

“Holly corroborated well enough too, writing out her answers,” Dick added. “Seems like she wanted to help you.”

“Heh, imagine that. Good kid.” Rose smirked, and shifted up straighter in her bed. She pulled the pillow behind her back for support. “How is she, anyway?”

“She’s doing fine. Still being looked over by doctors, but they didn’t find anything other than a few cuts and scrapes. Well, and-” Dick grimaced, scratching the back of his neck- “some internal scarring.”

Heat flushed through Rose’s cheeks. She stared at the sheets, hands balling into fists. “Yeah, well she won’t have to put up with that anymore.”

Cassandra wandered towards the side of the bed and sat in a second chair. Giving a thumbs up, she stated, “You saved her.”

“Well, I had to, didn’t I? She’s been through more than any kid should ever have to. Hope Pavoni rots in hell for what he did.”

“Right, about that,” Dick said, with a careful stare, “you weren’t the one who blew up his house, right?”

She shot a narrow glare back at him. “That’s what I said, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, and I believe you. I just had to double check.” Dick folded his arms and paced a few steps from side to side in front of the bed. “Turns out the explosion and subsequent fire completely destroyed his body. Makes determining the cause of death next to impossible. Other than, you know, being blown up.”

“Huh,” she mused, with a partial smirk, “imagine that.”

Cass frowned, holding a hand to her chin. After a brief moment of silence, she said, “He can’t hurt people anymore. That’s important.”

Dick conceded with a quiet sigh. “True enough.”

“So, if Holly’s okay, has her family come by to pick her up yet?” Rose said. Better to shift the conversation as far away from her killing Pavoni as possible. “They must be worried sick.”

Both Dick and Cass went quiet, giving each other a cursory glance.

Rose frowned. “Something wrong?”

“That girl, Holly, she-” Dick rubbed his forehead, pausing in search for the right words.

“She has no family,” Cass said, with a subtle shake of her head.

“What?” Rose bolted forward in bed, causing dull pain to flash through her body. She grit her teeth and ignored it. “You’re telling me she has no family at all? No parents, or siblings, cousins, grandparents, aunts, uncles— _ no one?” _

Dick nodded. “Her full name is Holly Anne Sanders. Her parents died in a car crash four years ago, and she’s an only child. Most of her extended family passed on before she was even born, and the only ones left are either in prison or unfit to care for her. She was in the foster system before her disappearance.”

“Wait, so she’s a foster kid?” Rose pinched her fingers against the bridge of her nose, forcing her brain to try and make sense of this. “So, who was looking after her, huh? Shouldn’t her foster family be here?”

“The couple that was taking care of Holly before isn’t, well, available anymore.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Cassandra piped up. “Arrested.”

“Somewhere down the road, their life took a downward spiral,” Dick explained. “Drugs, alcohol, domestic disputes, things like that. They didn’t even report Holly missing until a week after she was gone. Right now, they’re being held on a laundry list of charges.”

Rose huffed in disbelief, allowing her head to flop back on the pillow. The dull pounding in her head had grown worse. “So what now? What happens to her?”

“Well, she’s in court custody at the moment. Once the hospital clears her, she’ll probably be placed back in foster care.”

Headache be damned, she shoved her way upright again with a heated glare. “So she can end up in another shithole like the last one? No, no way! Not after what she’d been through. She deserves  _ so  _ much better than that!”

Dick paused, blinking at her with a defeated shrug. “Rose, I wish there was something else we could do, but that’s how things work. She doesn’t have another place to go.”

Rose stared down at the sheets again and shook her head. Unbelievable. The damn city was just going to throw Holly back into the system, without a care in the world how it had already treated her. She shouldn’t have to go through that again. She deserved  _ better _ . But what the hell could Rose do?

The idea struck her with an exasperated chuckle. On the surface, it was a stupid idea. Bizarre, even, especially for her. And yet, in a weird way, it made perfect sense. And it was the only way she could possibly help.

“What if I looked after her?” she said, lifting an earnest stare at Dick. “Doesn’t have to be permanent, but I could help. At least until something else can be done.”

Dick raised his eyebrows, briefly pausing as though he thought she was joking. When he realized she wasn’t joking, he gave a stuttering, “Rose, I-I don’t think-”

“No, just hear me out, alright?” She straightened herself, leaning forward in bed. “I know I can be a real bitch at times, and I know I don’t have a great track record as a ‘people person’. But there are things I’m serious about, and right now I’m serious about that girl. She’s been through too damn much to leave her life up to chance, and I know I can help her. I just—I want to do something good for a change that doesn’t involve punching someone in the face.”

“Listen, Rose, I can understand you wanting to help her,” Dick said, scratching the back of his head, “but becoming someone’s guardian isn’t as simple as saying you want to do it. There’s a process, petitions to fill out, court proceedings, they have to determine if you’re fit to take care of her, and—”

“What, you don’t think I’d make a good caretaker?” she said, with a narrow glare. “I used to look after Roy’s kid, Lian, remember? I did good with her, I can do good with Holly.”

Dick cleared his throat briefly, before returning to his seat. “It’s just, you don’t have a job, you don’t have any money, you don’t have a home, and that’s not to mention all the shady things they’d dig up if they ran a background check. Your current identity and position doesn’t exactly fit the right profile.”

“So get me a new identity. Fuck, you have the resources to make it happen. You’re freaking Batman, for crying out loud!” Rose settled back against the hospital bed, softening her gaze. “And I mean I can get a job, and whatever else I need. Please, just let me do this, Dick. For Holly.”

Dick shifted in his chair and shot a pleading look towards Cassandra, as if silently asking for help. Cassandra merely shrugged.

“Could be good for her,” said Cass. “Good for both of them.”

“Alright, fine, okay.” Dick threw up his hands and slumped into his seat, defeated. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Rose smiled, and for the first time in what felt like ages, she allowed herself to relax. “Thanks, Dick. Really.”

“Yeah, don’t mention it.” Dick offered a small nod and stood up again, heading towards the door. Cassandra moved ahead of him into the hallway. Pausing in the doorway, he looked back at her. “And Rose, another thing. About how we left things between us last time, I didn’t mean—”

Rose held up a hand to silence him. “Let me stop you right there. Listen, you were right. I did some thinking, and yeah, it never would have worked. I was just—I don’t know, feeling emotionally vulnerable or some shit, and I was drunk, and ugh. Just don’t worry about it, alright? I’m sorry.”

Dick offered a small smile, and nodded. “Get some rest, Rose. You’ve earned it.”

* * *

Rose marched through the doorway with a low whistle of amazement. “So, this is the place?”

“Yup, everything’s set up and ready to go.” Dick walked in behind her, his arms folded. “Fully furnished, best home security system known alien and man alike, and all expenses paid for by Wayne Enterprises.”

“Not bad, Grayson, not bad.” Rose gave a long look around the open foyer of the penthouse. The place was high-end as all hell, enough to rival Dick’s own penthouse back in Gotham. Maybe not quite as elaborate or obscenely ostentatious, but it would do her just fine. Silverstone Residential Towers sat in the heart of the city, and was home to some of its most expensive apartments. Dick had gone and nabbed her the best damn one in the building. Looking back to the open door, she called, “Holly, come see this. You’re gonna love it.”

The nine year old girl poked her head in around the edge of the doorway, looking inside with wide eyes. After a moment’s hesitation, she wandered into the penthouse, wearing proper clothes now—a blouse and nice jeans, no more terrible sundress. Her jaw dropped in amazement. Doubtful she’d ever seen a place quite as nice as this, let alone lived in it. Holly shook out of her wonder a second later, and with a delighted smile ran into the next room and hopped onto the large leather sofa. Grabbing the remote, she turned on the enormous flat screen television mounted on the wall and started flipping through channels.

“I’d say she likes it,” Dick said.

Rose smirked. “Yeah, seems that way.”

"And you think she'll be okay?"

"I certainly hope so. I mean, the therapy sessions should help." Rose sighed, folding her arms across her chest. "And as for communication, I learned sign language back after I first met Joey. I figure I can teach her. She seems like a smart kid."

It had been a long three weeks getting to this point. Three weeks filled with court proceedings and filing petitions to become Holly’s legal guardian. The whole thing had been a giant headache, but hell if she was going to give up on it. Dick had been the one who really made it happen, in any case. Courtesy of those Batman resources, he’d set her up with a completely new, squeaky clean identity, providing everything from a birth certificate, social security number, driver’s license, bank account, health insurance, even a job. Always the overachiever, that one. Had to make sure she could never possibly pay him back. 

Of course, the entire thing would have been for nothing if Holly didn’t want it. After all, Rose had only known the girl a couple days by that point. But considering the alternative of going back into foster care, and everything Rose had done to save her, the girl had happily accepted the offer.

“That’s not all, though.” Dick waved her along, heading deeper into the penthouse. “Follow me.”

Giving him a curious stare, she followed him through the open kitchen into the master bedroom. She raised a brow, smirking at him. “And here I thought we put that behind us. Now probably isn’t the best time to change your mind, though. There’s a kid in the other room.”

“Very funny,” he said, with a scolding glance.

Heading towards the far wall beyond the plush, king-sized bed, Dick entered a numbered code on a small security panel. The entire wall spun vertically, flipping completely around. An arsenal outfitted the backside of the wall—everything from swords, knives, flash grenades and other strange looking gadgets, to multiple copies of her Ravager costume, all sleeker and more modernized that the one that had been mostly destroyed in her fight with Blockbuster.

Rose’s eye widened, her lips curling into a delighted grin. “Oh, Grayson, you  _ really  _ know how to make a girl all tingly.”

He gave a small chuckle. “I’ll keep that in mind. Give it a good look, though. I’ve gone and given your gear a few upgrades.”

Rose practically skipped up to the wall to give her new gear closer inspection. The costume itself had the most significant changes—gone were the medieval scales and brighter colors, now instead outfitted with sleeker armored plates and a darker, more muted color palette of black, silver, and gold-orange. “What kinds of upgrades?”

“Well, for starters, I finally took the liberty of improving your armor.” Dick walked up to the wall and rapped his knuckles against one of the costumes. “Kevlar and Promethium mesh hybrid. You’re now as bulletproof as Batman.”

“The swords look different, too,” she said, eyeing the half dozen blades lined on one half of the wall. “Sharper, and shinier. I like shiny.”

“They are, about five-hundred percent sharper to be exact, filed down by WayneTech’s top laser sharpening tools. They’re also made of Promethium instead of regular steel, so they’ll hold their edge and won’t damage. You’ll be able to cut through concrete, steel, stone—most manmade materials, really. Just be careful with them.”

“Yeah, yeah.” She gently ran her thumb across one of the blades. Her skin only barely brushed the edge before she felt the sting, followed by a light trickle of blood. “You know there’s no way I can pay you back for all this, right?”

Dick simply raised his hand, and shook his head. “No need. You just do what you do best—stop the bad guys.”

“You can count on it. If this mess with Pavoni was good for anything, it showed me exactly what kind of shit goes on in this city. Well, now they have someone to clean it up.”

He flashed a smile. “I’ll hold you to it.”

Rose nodded, and took a step towards the large window-wall on the other side of the bedroom. Folding her arms, she gazed out over the city skyline beyond.

Silverstone City.

_ Her  _ city.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we have it, a new, completely fresh start for Rose. Not only does she have a new identity, but she has her own city, one that she'll be working to protect in her own way. I know a lot happened in this chapter, but there was a lot to get through to wrap up this story arc. I wanted here to really set Rose up for a new beginning, essentially. She's heading into some uncharted territory, working on her own, protecting a city as its only vigilante, and all while taking care of a child. Speaking of, I feel like that's not only something she would want to do in this circumstance, given her history of being oddly good with kids in spite of how terrible she is with most other people (being Lian's nanny really highlighted this, way back in the day), but she also gets to do something good, like she said, that doesn't involve punching someone. That, I feel, is very important for her future development as a person.
> 
> As for the whole situation with Jerry? Well, I do so love a villain who is so fascinated by the hero that he actually looks for reasons not to kill them. Like we have here, he could have very well just put the gun to Rose's head and killed her, but to him that would have been unsporting, and pointless. After everything Rose had done, he felt like she deserved that mercy, to fight another day. Perhaps he wants the chance to have another battle of wits. or perhaps he just wants to use her for something else in the future?
> 
> Also, in case anyone is confused about when I refer to her by Rose and when I refer to her by Ravager in the story, while she is fully in costume with her mask on, I call her Ravager. Any time she's out of costume, or in costume but without her mask, she's Rose. Simple.


	13. Game of Assassins #1: Let the Games Begin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Six months after taking in Holly, Rose officially starts her new job and really settles into her new life. Meanwhile, a group of crime bosses get together to determine a way to solve their vigilante problem.

Six months should be a long time, all things considered—half a year, after all. A lot can happen in six months. But if you don’t pay attention? It goes by in the blink of an eye. For Rose Wilson, those six months flew. Between taking care of Holly, working eight hours a day, and fighting crime as Ravager until ungodly hours of night, she had a lot on her plate. How Dick had done the same thing every day for years, she couldn’t figure out at first. But with repetition comes routine, and with routine things get a little easier.

Wake up at six in the morning, get Holly breakfast and drive her to school, go to work, take a late lunch to pick Holly up from school, take Holly to the sitter, go back to work, pick up Holly after work, come home and make dinner, spend an hour of quality time with Holly, get her to bed, set the security system, head out at night to beat up some criminals, come back for a few hours of sleep, and get up at six the next day to do it all over again—talk about your hectic freaking schedules.

Still, she wouldn’t trade it for the world. For the first time since her mother died, she had her own life. A _real_ life. She wasn’t living in anyone’s shadow, wasn’t the sixth wheel on some teen superhero team, and she certainly wasn’t being controlled by her manipulative, bastard of a father. So what if her weekdays were crazy? She still had her weekends free to spend time with Holly and catch up on sleep. She’d take the chaos of her daily routine over the shamble her life had been any day.

Especially if it meant giving Holly a good home. When Rose had first decided to take her in, it had been out of sheer desperation to do something good for a child who had nothing else. She hadn’t really known what she was getting into, raising a kid. Sure, she’d been Lian Harper’s nanny for a time, but occasionally looking after a girl whose dad moonlighted as Red Arrow didn’t quite compare to providing full time care. Or providing for her. Or getting her to school. Or helping her with homework. Being a parent, essentially. But that’s the position Rose had thrust upon herself, and it was one she would be damn sure to do right. Holly deserved as much—a truly sweet, wonderful girl who didn’t deserve any of the horrible crap she’d had to suffer. If Rose had anything to say about it, she’d make sure Holly never suffered again.

Promptly at a quarter past six on Monday morning, Rose sat at the island counter of her penthouse kitchen sipping coffee from a mug, while reading the front page of the newspaper. Now there was a bizarre concept—Rose Wilson: Domestic Edition. If Future Rose had ever time traveled and told Past Rose she would one day be sitting at a table reading the newspaper and drinking coffee while getting ready for work in the morning, Past Rose would have laughed and wondered what kind of drugs Future Rose was on. And yet here she was, eyeing the front page headline with an amused smirk.

_The Blade Sighted Again - Breaks Up Mugging._

Yeah, ‘The Blade’. Not very original, and yet that’s what the local media had dubbed their new vigilante. Get spotted a few times in costume with a couple swords, and boom—Blade. Hardly mattered, in any case. Let them call her what they wanted. Wouldn’t make her any less effective at running rampant over the criminal underbelly of Silverstone City.

As Rose took another swig of coffee, Holly wandered into the kitchen dressed up in jeans and a bright yellow T-shirt with a smiling face on it. The girl hopped up onto one of the seats around the island and swung her legs back and forth, smiling.

“Well, look who’s finally up and about,” Rose said, lowering the paper. “Finish your shower?”

Holly raised a hand and formed a single sign, while nodding her head. _“Yes.”_ She then indicated her still-damp hair, with a sarcastic raise of her eyebrows.

Rose smirked. “Oh, well excuse me. And you got all your homework done?”

Another sign, another nod. _“Yes.”_

“And I suppose you want breakfast now, huh?”

No sign this time—just a large, expectant grin.

With an exaggerated sigh, Rose set her mug on the counter and made her way to the stove, where a freshly cooked pan of scrambled eggs and bacon awaited to be served. “Alright, hold your horses.”

Over the past six months, Holly had proven to be an incredibly smart girl. Although devastated to learn her inability to speak was a permanent condition, she’d taken to learning sign language with surprising enthusiasm. Rose had only been able to teach her the basics a few hours a week, and yet still Holly grasped enough to hold her own in a conversation. Give it a little more time, and that girl would be near fluent.

Not only smart, but Holly had shown amazing resilience, as well. Rose had been worried, how Holly might adjust after what Pavoni had done to her, but between the weekly therapy sessions, and the occasional workout in the penthouse gym, in which Holly punched the crap out of a training dummy—Rose’s idea, as a way to work out her frustrations—she’d been able to move forward reasonably well. There were nights when she’d wake up from a nightmare, and in the cases where Rose wasn’t there to comfort her, she’d begun writing out her thoughts in a dream journal. Rose hadn’t read any of it, of course—the journal was Holly’s, and Holly’s alone. All in all, these six months had done good in getting Holly back on track to be a normal kid again.

Returning to the table, Rose set down the big plate of eggs and bacon in front of Holly. “Alright, so I should be around to pick you up about the same time as always to take you to Mrs. Silva’s. Today’s my first ‘real’ day on the job, though. No more training, no more being babysat by an FTO—I’m all on my own. Well, and my new partner.”

Holly swallowed a mouthful of eggs, acknowledging the explanation with a quick thumbs-up.

“Just remember to wish me luck,” Rose said, with a raise of her brow. Good luck getting this kid’s attention in the middle of breakfast.

Another mouthful of eggs, and this time Holly put down her fork to make another series of signs, smiling as she did. _“Good luck.”_

Rose found herself returning the smile. “Thanks, kiddo. Alright, now finish up your breakfast and let’s get going. If we don’t leave in ten minutes, traffic’s gonna suck. Your backpack is by the door, and your lunch money’s on the counter. Got it?”

Yet another thumbs-up. Holly polished off the last of her breakfast before hopping off her seat and scampering out of the kitchen to finish getting ready for school.

“And remember to brush your teeth!” Rose called.

And there she went sounding like an actual parent again. Sheesh. Talk about bizarre.

* * *

Four months straight of eight hour a day training, and two months of supervision under a field training officer later, and Rose finally— _finally_ —had earned her spot on the SCPD. Thank Dick for getting her hired to the Silverstone Central Police Department. Apparently, he still had quite a few connections in law enforcement, ever since his time as a cop in Blüdhaven. His word had been the only reason she’d been able to start training so quickly. Of course, her new identity helped too. The worst thing a background check would show on her now was that she graduated high school as a B-student. Today marked her first official day as a full-fledged officer—a rookie, sure, but at least she didn't have to endure an FTO breathing down her neck anymore.

And why a cop, of all jobs? Two reasons, really. Rose had been wholly against the idea when Dick first suggested it, but his points made sense. One, it gave her a chance to do a different kind of good in the city when she wasn’t running around at night in costume. And two, it gave her access to a lot of resources she might not have otherwise—criminal databases, for example, or case files. Useful stuff, when fighting crime.

Which all led her to sitting on the bench in the middle of the Silverstone Central women’s locker room, going over her uniform with a fine tooth comb to make sure everything was in order. Belt—check. Radio—check. Cuffs—check. Gun—check. Badge—check. Flashlight—check. Baton, taser, and everything else that went on her belt—check, check, and check. Hat—hat…

Where the hell was her hat?

She opened her locker again and rummaged through her belongings, hoping to find the thing buried beneath her street clothes. Couldn’t show up on her first day missing her damn police hat.

“Looking for this?”

Pulling her head out of the locker, Rose turned to see another officer standing there in full uniform—a tawny-skinned woman with a mane of curly brown hair pulled back into a ponytail. She froze, staring at the woman. Something familiar tugged at the back of Rose’s mind. She’d seen this woman somewhere before, hadn’t she? But where…?

“You okay?”

Rose blinked out of her thoughts, finally noticing the standard issue police hat the woman held in her outstretched hand. “Oh, yeah. Is that mine?”

 _“Sí,”_ the woman replied, with a nod. “Was on the floor under the bench. Must have knocked it off.”

“Figures,” Rose grumbled, accepting the hat. She took a moment to pull her long white hair back into a ponytail, and placed the hat atop her head to complete the uniform. “Thanks, though.”

The other officer folded her arms, lips pursed. “So, you’re Sarah Walker?”

Rose blinked, confused. “Huh?”

“Sarah Walker. That’s your name, right?”

Fuck, right—new identity. Six months and she still wasn't quite used to her new name. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, been a crazy morning.”

“Ah, no worries.” The woman extended a hand and gave a broad smile. “Name’s Rebecca Chavez, but you can call me Becky.”

Rose stood up from the bench and gave the woman’s hand a firm shake. Becky was taller than her by a good five inches, with a lean build. From what she could tell under the uniform, Becky kept herself in far better shape than the stereotypical donut cop. “Chavez? So, you’re my partner. Nice to have a face to go with the name.”

Becky folded her arms and flashed a grin. “You know, I saw your marks from the training course—highest in the last decade, I think they said. At least, in the field exam. The written tests, not so good.”

“What can I say?” Rose closed and locked her locker. “I’m more of a hands-on kind of girl.”

Beck's grin widened. “That’s good, so am I. Never liked tests much—couldn’t stand them in high school. Probably would've gone crazy if I’d ever gone to college.”

Rose cocked a brow. “You never went to college?”

“Nah, my family could never afford it,” she said. “Took a year off after high school, worked a couple odd jobs, then decided to do something good with my life. Got myself hired here, went through training, and never looked back. Was about, oh, four and a half years ago, now.”

“So that makes you, what, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four as of last month.”

“Shouldn’t you still have an older partner, in that case?”

Becky shrugged. “Had one, sure—Marco, good guy—but he went and got himself transferred over to the second precinct. Worked solo for a few months, then they assigned me to the new rookie. But what about you, ah? You hardly look old enough to be out of college, either.”

Rose gave an idle shrug. “Same story, I suppose. Out of highschool, worked some _really_ odd jobs, then I found myself here.”

“So, you’re pretty young then, ah?”

“Twenty-one next month.” According to her new birth certificate, anyway.

Becky puffed out a laugh. “Ah, you’re practically a baby!”

“Oh, right, like you’re so much older,” Rose chided, with a mocking glare.

“Not to worry-” Becky wrapped an arm around Rose’s shoulder and began leading her out of the locker room- “Stick with me, and I’ll teach you everything you need to know.”

* * *

Rose leaned back in the passenger seat of the squad car, hands folded behind her head. Becky sat in the driver’s seat, of course, driving the vehicle through their designated patrol area—mostly Midtown and part of the East District.

“So,” she said, giving the older woman a cursory glance, “you get to drive, huh?”

“Of course I get to drive, girl,” Becky said, with a playful smirk. “I’m the senior officer, aren’t I?”

“I mean, if you want to be logical, sure.”

Becky snorted a laugh, as she turned the squad car down the next street. “Don’t worry, I might let you drive sometime. Eventually. Maybe.”

A small, steady smirk grew across Rose’s face. For as much as she’d never been a people person, this Becky was already starting to grow on her. Way better than having some boring stiff as her partner, in any case.

“So, Captain told me about your situation,” Beck said, resting an elbow against her open window. “Single mom?”

“Something like that. I mean, she’s not mine, but I look after her—legal guardian, and all. Her name's Holly. Great kid.”

“Oh yeah? How’d she end up with you, anyway?”

Rose turned a lazy glance out the passenger window, her gaze drifting out of focus. “She just didn’t have anyone else, you know? Sheer luck that I even met her, let alone got to know her well enough to want to take care of her. She was in foster care before, but—well, it didn’t work out great for her. She went through a lot of crap.”

“Ah,” Becky said, with a slow nod of acknowledgement, “poor girl.”

“Yeah, but she’s doing better now. A lot better.”

“Glad to hear it.” Becky slowed to a stop at an intersection, waiting for the traffic light to turn green. After a moment’s pause, she looked over and said, “So, you hear about this mysterious ‘Blade’ character running around at night?”

Rose flinched, shifting straighter in her seat. Well, shit. Probably shouldn’t have expected to work at a police station and not hear about the city’s new vigilante. “Oh, yeah, I think so. Read about it in the paper—some nut going around with swords and fighting crime right?”

 _“Sí,_ that’s the one. I saw her once myself, you know.”

That nagging tug of familiarity in the back of her head pulled harder. “You did?”

Becky nodded. “Didn't get a good look at her, but she was outside an old nightclub, about seven months back or so. Turns out she saved a bunch of missing kids being held captive.”

The nagging exploded. _That_ was where she’d seen Becky before! Outside the Orchid Lounge, the night she freed the children Pavoni had kidnapped. Becky had been the second officer, along with the overweight officer she’d kicked off balance—Marco, her previous partner.

“I gotta say,” Becky continued, “the mystery is pretty intriguing.”

“You think?”

“Sure. Mystery makes for a good story.”

Rose frowned. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“Mm, so there is.” Becky sat up straighter and sighed. “I mean, I think it’s great someone out there wants to do some good, you know? And I get she saved those kids. But the way she’s going about it—it’s not right.”

“But you just said she saved a bunch of captive children.” Rose folded her arms, tapping her fingers with incessant repetition. Only her first day, and already she was having to secretly defend herself. “That’s a win, right?”

“That’s true, she did. But she also hurt a lot of people in the process.”

“So what should she have done, then? Let the children suffer?”

Becky shook her head. “No, of course not. But she could have called the police—that’s what we’re here for. Instead, she tore through that nightclub and put eight men in the hospital. Two of which will never walk again. Give it some time, and she'll end up killing someone with those swords of hers.”

Rose suppressed the growing heat in her cheeks. “Some might say they deserved it.”

“Maybe, but that’s not her decision to make. She’s still a civilian.”

“So are most superheroes.”

“At least most superheroes try to work _with_ police, rather than behind our backs,” Becky said, with a subtle shrug. “Heck, even Batman.”

Rose sank deeper into her seat, but didn’t say anything else. No way she could continue trying to defend the Blade without either outing herself or getting way more heated than she should. Best to let the conversation die.

Static hissed over the squad car’s radio, followed by the dispatcher’s voice. “We have a 211 in progress at 324 Turkott Street, requesting immediate response.”

Becky lifted the car radio to her mouth. “Copy, dispatch, we’re on our way.” Flipping on the police lights and siren, she turned the car around and sped off down the street. “A robbery on your first day—think you can handle it?”

Rose sat up straighter, and forced a grin. “I think I’ll manage.”

* * *

Emilia Delany pushed open the door of Marino's Italian Restaurant with an indignant grumble. Of all the places to spend her Monday afternoon, she had to lower herself to this dump? Well, fine. If that’s what Rupert wanted, she’d go along with it for now. It was neutral ground, in any case. As much time as that crusty old man spent here, he didn’t own it. Smoothing out the hem of her sleek blue dress, she marched across the floor of the restaurant, between the tables packed with customers, and into the private dining area in the back.

A single round table greeted her inside, at which two other men sat waiting for her. One was a thin individual wearing a tacky cabana shirt and wide brimmed fedora. He sported a thin goatee, and hid his eyes behind a pair of narrow sunglasses—Frankie Briggs. The other was an older man, overweight with greying hair neatly slicked back atop his head. He wore a three-piece suit that to the untrained eye might look impressive, but to Emilia it reeked of cheap knockoff—Rupert Thorne.

Emilia sat at the table and brushed back her long dark hair over one shoulder, while setting her gem-encrusted purse in her lap. “Alright, let’s get this over with.”

“Emilia,” said Thorne, sitting straight in his seat. “Good of you to finally show up. Can I offer you anything to drink?”

“Skip the pleasantries, Rupert,” she said, with a narrow glare at the old man. “You didn’t invite us here to wine and dine. Let’s cut to business.”

Thorne shrugged, and grabbed his own wine glass. “Very well. I should assume you all know why we’re here?”

“Yeah,” Frankie muttered, sinking lower into his seat, with his arms crossed across his chest. “The new cape in town, the one everyone’s calling ‘Blade’. She took down one of my trucks week—lost the entire shipment.”

“And she caught my son last month breaking into the local jeweler,” Emilia stated, with a frustrated sigh—that idiot boy of hers. “Caused a real headache for us.”

Thorne raised an eyebrow, as he sipped at his wine. “I thought you hated your son.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Jonathan is a screw up. But he’s still family.”

“I see.” Thorne leaned forward, tapping his fingers against the table. “In any case, my point is that we've all been hit by this new 'hero' running around Silverstone, and it doesn't look like she's going to stop any time soon. The whole reason I packed up and left Gotham was to get away from those costumed freaks.”

“So what do you want to do about it?” Frankie asked.

“Well, that's why we're here,” Thorne said. “To figure it out. For now, I'm suggesting we set aside our differences and work together—come up with a way to get rid of this Blade.”

Emilia paused, mulling over the prospect in her head. “Would be nice not to have her causing problems anymore. I suppose I can live with that arrangement. For now.”

“Yeah, for now,” Frankie said. “But no funny business, Thorne, you hear?”

Thorne smirked, taking another sip of wine. “Of course, I wouldn't dream of it.”

Emilia leaned back in her seat and crossed her legs. “Did you have anything particular in mind?”

“Well, I think we can all agree our families and the people who work for us aren't anywhere near skilled enough to take on someone like this, yes?” said Thorne, with a certain mocking truth in his tone. “I learned enough butting heads with Batman to know a bunch of thugs with guns isn’t going to work.”

“Hmph, you can say that again,” Frankie muttered. “This broad knows what she's doing, I'll give her that.”

Thorne leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “So, perhaps we should bring in some ‘professional’ help.”

Emilia raised a brow. “I don’t see why you’d need us to hire someone.”

“If my experiences with the Bat have taught me anything, it's that one pro is never enough. But these professionals aren’t exactly cheap. Spending that amount of resources isn't something I'm willing to do, even if it might guarantee the job.”

“So what, you want us all to pool our resources and put out multiple contracts on her?” Frankie asked.

“That's one way of looking at it, yes.” Thorne spread a grin across his face. “But I also thought I'd make things a little more interesting.”

Emilia narrowed her eyes. “Go on.”

“I propose we each choose one professional to hire. With three killers on the job, there's no doubt this Blade will fall eventually. However, we'll each be wagering a fair sum on our guy. The one whose hire kills her wins the pool.”

Emilia brought a hand to her chin, giving Thorne a long, careful look. What the man lacked in class, he made for it with interesting ideas, she’d give him that. Could also be fun, taking his money. She gave a passing glance to Frankie, who shifted in his seat and lit up a cigarette. That either meant he liked the idea, or he was nervous.

“I will admit,” she said, “that does sound intriguing. How big a wager are we talking, exactly?”

Thorne swirled the wine in his glass. “A hundred grand.”

Frankie coughed, nearly choking on his cigarette. “A hundred G's?”

“What's the matter, Frankie-” Thorne's gaze turned to the younger man- “Too rich for ya?”

“No, no. It's fine.” Frankie gave another cough, pounding his fist against his chest. “A hundred it is.”

“In that case, the next step is deciding who to hire.” Thorne reached into his pocket, removing a small pad of paper and a pen. “I suggest we do it here and now, so no one ends up trying to hire the same person. There are only a handful of people out there capable of taking on a job like this, after all.”

“Very well,” Emilia stated, waving a flippant hand at him. “We'll even let you pick first.”

Thorne grinned, writing a name down on the paper. He then slid it across the table for the other two to take a look.

Frankie laughed. “Come on, Thorne—guns? Really? No way. My guys have gone up against her enough to know that there ain't no way you're taking her down with guns. She’s got some kind of powers, I’m telling you.”

“Then I suppose you have a better choice?”

“You know I do.” Frankie took his turn to write down a name on the paper, and passed it over to the others. “With someone like this, subtlety is key. A little poison goes a long way.”

“Maybe,” Thorne said, “but only if you can get close enough to her to use it. Now then, Emilia? Your go.”

Giving them both a careful glance, Emilia quickly wrote down her selection and passed the paper back to them. They could write down any names they wanted, but no one they came up with could hold a candle to hers. “I believe the direct approach will be the best one.”

Upon seeing the name, Thorne scoffed out a hearty laugh. “Sure, if you can find her! I don't know anyone with those kinds of connections.”

Emilia merely grinned. “You obviously don't know me very well, Rupert.”

“Alright, so it's settled.” Thorne gave them both a careful look, spreading a pleased grin across his face. “You have one week to contact your selections and make the hire. Then, we let the games begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So yeah, this is mostly a set up chapter as we catch up with how Rose's life has progressed in the past six months. We see how she's really settled into her life and role as Holly's caretaker, something which she's taking very seriously. This sets the story in a place where Ravager is now an established vigilante of Silverstone (although of course the media dubs her something else), to the point where the local crime families are coming together to find a way to take her out. Expect to see some notable assassins of the DCU appearing throughout this arc. Imaginary bonus points to anyone who can guess which ones.


	14. Game of Assassins #2: Shooter In The Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager finds herself ambushed by a mysterious gunman.

Rose huffed out a deep breath of exhaustion, as she sank to the bench of the women’s locker room of Silverstone Central—another long day complete patrolling as one of the city’s finest. In the past two weeks since she’d become a full fledged officer, she’d responded to domestic disturbances, issued citations, and arrived at the scene of several robberies. Not to mention the one time a homeless man had been running naked through Central Square—that was the kind of shit they hadn’t quite prepared her for in training.

As Rose unbuttoned her uniform, she turned her head and yawned into the crook of her elbow. Just a couple more days and the week would be over. The weekend couldn’t come fast enough. Holly had been wanting to check out the local mall for a while—might make a good Saturday afternoon trip. Considering her nights were still booked solid, she had to plan to spend as much time with her throughout the day. After all, Silverstone’s criminal activity didn’t take a night off—neither could the Blade.

“Hey, girl.” Becky stepped into view, leaning against the row of lockers with her arms folded. “Heading home already?”

Rose threw her uniform shirt into the locker. “Yeah, I gotta pick up Holly soon. Mrs. Silva’s only supposed to watch her until six.”

Becky pursed her lips with a mock pout. “I seriously gotta take you out, some time. I mean, you work all day, then go home and take care of your girl—when you ever have a chance to go out and have some fun, ah?”

“There’s a lot of things going on in my life right now,” she said, with scoffing chuckle. “Fun just isn’t one of them at the moment.”

“Ah, come on.” Becky plopped down on the bench next to Rose, and flashed a smile. “You’ll burn yourself out if you never go out once in a while. Even the best parents need a break from their kids sometimes. You need a night to yourself.”

“Yeah, and do what?” Rose stood up and unbuckled her belt, and set it down on the bench behind her. “Go to a club? Get drunk and end up in some random guy’s bed? No thanks.”

“Not quite what I meant,” Becky said, leaning back on her hands. “That’s not really my kind of thing either, believe me. But hey, there’s plenty a couple of friends can do together to unwind. Get your sitter to take Holly for a couple extra hours some time—we’ll have some fun.”

Rose paused in front of her locker, one hand on the open door. Friends, huh? The word still seemed almost foreign. She’d lost a lot of friends through her own sheer recklessness—most everyone on the Teen Titans, for one. But she’d managed to keep Dick as a friend. And she’d gained one in Cassandra, too. Then there was Becky—her partner, sure, but more than that. Becky had been a hell of a lot of fun to ride around with every day, and damn if Rose hadn’t talked more these past two weeks than she’d talked in the past year. Yeah, Becky was definitely a friend, too.

“Maybe,” she said, giving a nod to her partner. “I’ll think about it.”

Becky grinned. “Hey, that’s all I’m asking. Open up a little, let loose, leave your stress behind—all that good stuff.”

Rose offered a subtle smile. “We’ll see.”

* * *

Rose turned off the kitchen sink and dried her hands on a dish towel. Alright, that was the dirty dishes cleaned and out of the way. Just one last thing to take care of before she suited up and went out. Heading out of the kitchen, she made her way into the open, spacious living room beyond. She gave a curious look around the quiet penthouse.

“Now, I wonder,” she said, taking several silent steps forward, “where could Holly have run off to?”

She stopped in front of the coffee table. A tiny flicker of movement had already caught her attention—a small figure crawling farther away to stay out of sight. Nice try, kiddo, but nothing escaped her perception. For a few moments, she played the part of the confused, oblivious parent, walking circles around the living room with a contemplative hand pressed to her chin.

Another flicker of movement—this time a foot pulling in beneath the coffee table. Alright, enough games. With an over exaggerated hum of thought, Rose dropped to one knee and tilted her head upside down to look under the table. Holly stared back at her with a playful grin.

Rose returned a smirk. “Oh, so you thought you could hide from me, huh?”

Crawling out from beneath the table, Holly flashed a few signs. _“Fooled you for a while.”_

“Maybe, but I found you in the end.” Rose helped the girl to her feet, and urged her to keep moving towards the bathroom. “Now go brush your teeth for bed.”

Rose waited, leaning on the living room sofa, and tapping a foot against the carpet. Holly returned five minutes later dressed in a set of fuzzy pink pajamas with blue polka dots.

“All set?”

 _“Yes,”_ Holly signed, with a nod. _“Washed my face, too.”_

Rose gave the girl’s face a careful look, noting that it was indeed still damp. “Alright, in that case off to bed, kiddo. I’ll be there in a minute.”

As Holly scampered off to her bedroom, Rose went back into the kitchen. She filled a glass of water and then followed. Holly waited patiently, sitting up in bed with her bright pink blanket pulled up to her waist. She smiled, as Rose set the glass on the bedside table.

“And here’s your water. Now, let’s go over the rules.”

Holly rolled her eyes and signed, _“I know.”_

Rose sat at the edge of the bed with a sigh. “I know you do. You’re a smart kid, Holly. I just have to be sure.”

She hated having this discussion every night, but she couldn’t bring herself _not_ to have it—she had to be sure, one hundred percent, that Holly knew what to do in the case she didn’t come back from one of her nightly patrols. Not that it was likely, but it was still a possibility. Holly frowned, apparently sensing the shift in tone, and sat more at attention.

“Now, if anyone other than myself tries to get into this apartment, what do you do?”

Holly raised her hands to sign, but paused for a second to think. Not for lack of knowing what to do—Rose already knew she did—but most likely to get the signs right. She was still learning, after all. Eventually, she managed to sign, _“Stay in my room. Lock the door. Call you.”_

Rose nodded. “Yes, good. The security system should take care of everything else. And if I’m not back in the morning?”

Holly flashed three quick signs. _“Nine - One - One.”_

“Right. Even if you can’t say anything, they’ll still be able to trace the call and send over an officer. You let them know I went out the previous night and never came back. They’ll take care of it.”

Holly smiled, giving a firm thumbs-up.

“Alright, now get some sleep,” Rose said, reaching for the blanket to tuck her in. “You have a big math test tomorrow.”

Before she could pull up the blanket, Holly lunged forward and wrapped her arms tight around her. Rose blinked, stiffening a moment in surprise. The surprise melted away soon after. With a deep, calming breath, she wrapped her own arms around the girl and returned the hug. Damn, this sweet girl—Rose did not deserve her.

“Night, Holly. Sleep tight.”

* * *

Ravager peered around the corner of a stack of crates, narrowing a stern glare through the lens of her mask. Well, not so much a mask anymore—thanks again to Dick’s gear upgrades. Her new and improved mask was made of the same Kevlar and Promethium mesh material, far more rigid and protective than the cloth she used to tie over her head before. While it still only covered her head and the top half of her face, it functioned more or less like a helmet, capable of resisting small arms fire and other forceful trauma.

And the eyehole? Now fitted with a computer lens that offered a whole mess of useful information on a free floating HUD in front of her eye. Not to mention the display settings—the infrared was her favorite. Made sneaking up on and taking down armed goons a whole lot easier when you could see their heat signatures through walls. Like the group of men currently loading the back of a truck around the corner of a rundown alley in the slums of Silverstone. Not suspicious in and of itself, but the brick-like packages of white powder they carried gave away their cargo in the most obvious manner. Idiot street-level criminals—couldn’t even be bothered to hide their coke in boxes or something.

Once she’d confirmed the cargo, Ravager switched to infrared to get read on the number of men she was dealing with. Two loading the truck, one standing watch on the flat roof of the box truck, and a fourth waiting in the driver’s seat. Easy pickings.

“Come on, Jimmy,” said one of the men loading the truck. “We shouldn’t be out here!”

His buddy looked over at him with an annoyed frown. “And when were we going to do this? Broad daylight?”

“It’s not that, I just mean-” he packed another brick into the truck and hurried back towards the open door of the building behind them- “She’s out there. You know— _her_. Somewhere. Probably watching us.”

Ravager smirked. So, she had these morons spooked before she’d even made an appearance? Batman would be so proud.

“Dave, I swear, you are such a freaking baby,” said Jimmy, as he stooped over to pick up another package. “You even remember the plan? Just shut up and load the truck. Sooner we do our job, sooner we can go home.”

Ravager looked up to the side of the building behind her. An old, rusty fire escape led to the roof—not the best option, considering the noise it would make. The worn brick walls had crumbled in places, though, offering a few good handholds. Yeah, that would do. With a running start, she jumped to the first handhold and pulled herself upward. Without slowing her momentum, she scrambled up the side of the wall until she reached the rooftop. A small chunk of brick kicked out beneath her boot, falling into a pile of trash in the alley below.

“Shit, did you hear that?” Dave’s voice again.

“Probably just a cat,” Jimmy replied. “Stop being a wuss.”

Now was as good a time as any. With a quick crack of her knuckles, Ravager ran towards the edge of the roof, leaped into open air, and plummeted downward. She landed with a crash atop the roof of the truck. The lookout—a scrawny young men with a barely grown in moustache—yelped in surprise, as he stumbled away from her.

Ravager grinned, punching a fist into her palm. “Alright, who’s first?”

“I told you!” Dave said, dropping the package he was carrying. He immediately turned and ran off down the alley.

“Right, time to go!” Jimmy replied, with a mad dash after his friend.

The lookout also turned and scrambled off the truck, just as the driver leaped out of the van and took off in the other direction—all four men, scattering to the winds without so much as a second thought. 

“Huh.” Ravager blinked, looking around the truck for any signs of other men. Nothing. Well, this was awkward. Usually the people she stopped at least tried to put up a fight. Apparently, she’d made such a reputation they wanted nothing to do with her. With a shrug to herself, she hopped off the truck to the ground. “Welp, works for me.”

Walking around the back of the truck, she knelt down to inspect one of the discarded packages. The truck was already packed full of them. That much cocaine—wonder what the reaction would be if she dropped off the truck right outside the station? Might as well at least make sure she had the right stuff. Drawing her sword, she made a quick cut to the package. 

White powder spilled out onto the pavement. She frowned at it. Odd. She hadn’t exactly dealt with a lot of cocaine in her life, but this seemed off. There was no smell, for starters. One thing she remembered from her police training—cocaine was supposed to have a distinct, unmistakable odor. This? There was nothing. Leaning close to the powder, she took in a deep breath through her nose. Alright, now there was a scent, but definitely not coke. Something more familiar. 

With a frown, she dabbed a small dusting of powder onto her gloved finger and held it to her mouth. Probably a terrible idea, but if it was poison her body could probably handle it. The taste brought her brow into a confused furrow. Flour? What the fuck kind of sense did that make? She looked over to the truck. Why the hell would these guys be moving flour disguised as cocaine in the middle of the night?

A distant crack of thunder echoed through the night. No—not thunder! Ravager threw herself into a wild roll, as the image tore through her mind. A bullet exploded into the pavement with a spray of asphalt shrapnel. Another half a second and that would have been her skull. The freaking size of that bullet—definitely not small arms fire. So who in the hell was firing .50 caliber rounds at her?

Another flash of precognition. Ravager bolted upright and threw herself behind the truck, fractions of a second before another bullet tore a second crater into the pavement. Two more shots chased her. She ducked, as melon-sized holes exploded through the siding of the truck. Then silence. Was the shooter waiting for her to show her face?

When the next image flickered through her head, her heart dropped. Fuck! Ravager bolted, raced for the alley—too slow. The truck exploded, lifting her from her feet. She soared airborne. Flaming bits of metal rained around her, as she hit the ground and rolled into the alley. She lay there a moment to collect her breath. Aside from a ringing in her ears, nothing else hurt. Thank Dick for the armor upgrades. Flipping to her feet, she looked towards the top of the buildings in front of her.

Alright, judging from the angle of the bullets, the shooter couldn’t see her from his current vantage point. Time to piece this shit together. She turned her focus towards the remains of the truck. Those men had never been packing up drugs to ship out—they were a decoy, meant to get her attention and draw her out for the shooter. If that failed, they’d rigged the truck to explode. Almost worked too—if not for her precognition, half her head would be missing.

Now, to track down this asshole. Couldn't go back the way she came, or she’d be dodging bullets again. She’d have to double back the opposite way down the alley, in that case. Then, she had to figure out exactly where this shooter was and take him the fuck out. Ravager pressed a small button on her belt and waited. The rev of an engine rumbled down the alley, as her motorcycle turned the corner on autopilot and drove up to her.

Her armor and weapons weren’t the only thing Dick had upgraded for her. He’d also outfitted her with a new ride—one geared specifically for crime fighting transportation. The sleek frame extended almost completely to the ground, covering the tired with an entirely bulletproof alloy. The seat was horizontal, meaning she more lay atop it than sat upright—good for making herself a smaller target when driving towards something. And the engine? Oh—the _engine_ . That amount of horsepower between her legs put her in a _wonderful_ place.

“Alright, mystery man-” she hopped aboard her bike and switched to manual control, racing like a rocket down the alley- “let’s see where you’re hiding.

As she turned onto the main street, Ravager clicked another button, this one on the side of her mask. The display of her eyepiece refreshed, now displaying a normal view except for one key difference. Another flash of precog went off in her head. She swerved, avoiding the bullet with a slick weave of her ride to the other side of the road. As soon as the gunshot went off, a noticeable ping flickered in the HUD of eyepiece—the sound waves of a large, sharp spike in noise approximately half a mile away. With a smirk, she gunned the engine and took off towards the sound.

A second shot rang out, prompting another flicker on her HUD. Again, she swerved. Again, the road exploded next to her bike. She kept going, coming up on a tight cluster of traffic. She only sped up, weaving through the cars in the way only someone with superhuman reflexes and control could possibly achieve. Panicked drivers slammed on their car horns as she flew by, but the noise faded seconds alter. Not the noise she was looking for, anyway.

Then, the third shot. The HUD spiked again, but this time a steady ping flickered at a fixed location—the old Silverstone Clock Tower, one of the tallest buildings in the area. She swerved away from the shot again and made a sharp turn down a side street. From here, she could make it to the clock tower completely hidden from the shooter’s line of sight.

Gotcha, asshole.

* * *

Ravager sprinted up the spiraling stairwell of old, worm-eaten wood. Damn place didn’t even have an elevator, not that it would have worked. The old clock tower hadn’t been in service for decades, long since boarded up and barely maintained. From what she knew, the only reason the city still kept it around was for aesthetic reasons, as some long standing monument of Silverstone’s history. All well and good, but that also made it the perfect setup for a sniper. Like the one trying to kill her.

When she reached the top floor of the tower, she paused outside the closed door with a few deep breaths. She pressed her ear to the door and listened. Nothing but the dull, steady ticking of a massive clock. Well, at least the city cared enough to keep the thing running. Reaching a hand to the door, Ravager pressed a shoulder against it and shoved the thing open. Splinters tore out from the frame, as she wrenched the door almost entirely off its hinges.

She changed the display on her eyepiece again—night vision this time. No sign of movement amongst the interior scaffolding and large, spinning cogs. Plenty of places to hide, though. Keeping to the shadows, she made her way towards the far side of the floor, where the large circular clock window overlooked the city. One of the glass panes had been removed, allowing an open view of Silverstone below. In front of the opening, a discarded sniper rifle sat on a mount, pointed out the window. 

Ravager frowned at the weapon—military-grade, high powered scope, stabilizer. This wasn’t some random thug taking potshots at her. Whoever this shooter was, he was a professional. With another quick look around, she relaxed her guard and made her way back towards the exit. Apparently, she’d caught someone’s attention. Enough to hire an expert marksman to assassinate her, at least. Too bad the chump dipped out before she had a chance to beat him.

An image flashed through her head. She jumped backwards, at the same time the thunder of gunfire echoed through the tower. Three bullets thudded into the floor where she’d been standing, fired straight downward. Ravager snapped her gaze upward. There, standing in the rafters—a man wearing a strange red bodysuit and silver helmet with a red optic lens fitted over the right eye.

The man huffed out a frustrated breath, pulling back his arm. Fresh smoke wafted out the barrel of a wrist-mounted gun. “That’s the last time you make me miss, Sweet Cheeks.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that.” Ravager took a defensive stance, keeping a close watch on the gun mounted to his arm. “So, who are you supposed to be?”

“You can call me Deadshot. Better known as the man who’s about to put a bullet between your eyes.”

“That right? Alright, then. Give it your best shot.”

Deadshot tilted his head to the side. “That supposed to be some kind of pun?”

She smirked. “Maybe.”

“Well, it ain’t funny.” Deadshot raised his arm again, aiming his wrist-gun at her. “Sweet dreams, Missy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And assassin #1 makes his appearance. Welcome Deadshot to the scene, trying his hand at taking out Silverstone's new vigilante. This was a fun chapter to write, if only to show off some of Ravager's sweet new upgrades. When you have Batman as a friend, it comes with a whole bunch of useful tools. Also got to show Deadshot's ambush, which actually probably would have worked if Ravager wasn't a precog. Granted, nobody knows Silverstone' Blade is a precog, so we can't fault him for that. But come back next time to see how their fight in the clock tower plays out!


	15. Game of Assassins #3: The Grinning Cat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose finds a lead linking Deadshot to Rupert Thorne, but before she can get to the bottom of things, she's attacked by a second assassin!

Ravager dove behind a wooden pillar, seconds before three bullets tore splinters out of it. She heard Deadshot move his position on the scaffolding above, and she moved to compensate. Another few shots, another few close calls. One barrage ricocheted off the rotating gears of the clock with a spray of sparks. Ravager ran and slid low beneath the spinning cog to the other side and kept moving. She darted behind another pillar and pressed her back to it.

“You can’t jump around like that forever!” Deadshot said, from somewhere above. “Just hold still and make this easier on yourself.”

Ravager frowned. Deadshot—she’d heard the name before. When your father is the world’s most lethal assassin, you pick up on some of the other top assassins out there. This wasn’t some dollar store hitman. This was one of the most expensive assassins money could buy, which meant someone had paid a fuck ton of money to see her dead. Whoever she’d managed to piss off, it was someone big.

Darting out from behind the pillar, she kicked off a wall and leaped upward, swinging her way onto one of the upper scaffolding levels. Another shot rang out, but she shifted behind the spinning gears again. Bullets pinged off the metal. “What’s the matter, can’t handle a moving target?”

She stuck a hand out from behind the pillar. Another shot went off, but she pulled her hand back immediately, before the bullet could hit her. He could see her clearly, no doubt about it. Which meant that optic lens on his helmet had either thermal imaging or night vision of some sort. Couldn’t bank on the shadows concealing her, so she’d have to stick with physical cover while trying to work her way to him. With a quick lunge, she jumped from one set of scaffolding to another, and rolled behind a set of wooden beams. Three more bullets sent splinters spraying in all directions.

“Bit of a quick shot, I see,” she called out, with a pitying sigh. “It’s okay, a lot of guys have that problem.”

A frustrated huff answered her. “You’re more impressive than I would have thought, I’ll give you that. Don’t think I’ve ever had a target who made me miss this much. But then, I’ve never had a target who could see the shots before they happened, either.”

Ravager looked to the beams behind her. They extended towards the top of the open clock chamber, with plenty of places to hide. She waited a second, and then ran up the side of the pillar and began to climb. If she stayed out of sight, she might be able to get into position to surprise him.

“That is your secret, isn’t it?” Deadshot continued. “Some kind of sixth sense or something? Can tell by the way you move. You know where I’m going to shoot before I fire. I’d call it super speed, but you still dodge even when you’re not looking. That, and speedsters don’t need a bike for travel.”

That’s it, keep talking. Ravager climbed higher, near the top of chamber now. She moved around the uppermost beams and looked downward. Through the night vision lens of her mask, she noted Deadshot circling the scaffolding twenty feet below her, still focused on the same level she’d been before. She crept farther, making her way directly overhead.

“It’s a neat trick, I’ll admit.” Deadshot pointed his wrist-guns straight ahead, slowly sweeping them through his line of sight. “But you’re not the only one with tricks.”

When she’d poised herself straight above the assassin, Ravager took a deep breath and prepared to leap. If she got this right, she could end it in one blow.

“Take my suit for example. Not just protection—also enhances my senses, like my sight, my reflexes-”

Ravager made the jump, dropping in straight overhead the assassin with her leg extended, aiming her heel at the back of his head.

“-and my hearing.” Deadshot whirled around and dropped to his backside, aiming his wrist-guns straight upward. “Gotcha.”

 _Fuck!_ He’d known exactly where she was the whole time, let her get into position, waited for her to be stuck in midair—smart bastard. With nowhere to move, all six shots he made collided square into her chest, center mass. The air burst from her lungs. Deadshot rolled out of the way before she crashed into the scaffolding, breaking clean through the wooden platform. She plummeted all the way to the floor with a deafening crack of splintering wood.

With a heaving groan, Ravager forced herself upright. The fall hadn’t hurt, but the bullets—fucking hell. Her armor had held against them, but the force left her struggling to breathe, gasping out with short, hissing gulps of air. She half-crawled, half-stumbled into cover behind one of the spinning cogs. Could have been hit by a freaking train and it would have hurt less.

“Huh, fancy suit you got there yourself,” called Deadshot’s voice. She heard him move from the scaffolding and jump to ground level. “My rounds are designed to pierce standard body armor, which means yours is made of some real fine stuff. Makes me wonder where you got your hands on it.”

Ravager coughed, forcing air into her lungs. Every twitch of movement she made sent dull flares of pain stabbing through her chest. She couldn’t drag this out anymore—gotta end it quick.

“Doesn’t make a bit of difference, though.” Old, tired wood creaked through the tower, as Deadshot took steps around the side of his target’s cover. “Dunno what it is about you crime fighting loonies that makes you leave the lower half of your faces exposed, but I’m not about to complain. Makes for an easy target."

Time to make her move. As the footsteps drew nearer, Ravager darted out of cover and charged the man in a low crouch, drawing both swords as she went. Agony tore through her with each breath, but she swallowed it in the moment—couldn’t let that slow her down.

Deadshot stuttered back half a step, as though surprised to see his target running straight at him. After the moment’s hesitation, he aimed his guns at her. “Dumb move.”

Ravager leaped upward in a spinning arc, a hair’s breadth before he fired. Bullets struck empty air, as her form whirled above the man. Deadshot raised his arms to adjust his aim, and managed two more shots. One impacted the shoulder of her body armor—not even enough to throw off her balance. At the apex of her spin, she slashed down with her swords. Deadshot ducked and rolled across the floor out of the way. Ravager landed on her feet and pivoted, swords still at the ready.

“Nice try,” said Deadshot, as he flipped back to his feet, “but you missed.”

“Not exactly.” Ravager straightened herself and sheathed her blades. “Wasn’t aiming for you specifically.”

Deadshot paused a moment in confusion, then looked down at his wrists. Both his gunst had been cut from their mounted fastenings and now lay scattered on the floor six feet away from where he stood. “Oh, son of a—”

By the time he looked up again, Ravager was on him. She buried her knuckles into the front of his helmet, cracking the metal exterior and shattering the red optic lens. Deadshot staggered backwards. She drove a second fist into his gut. Then a third, square in the kidney. A whirling kick to the chest sent him tumbling head over heels to the floor.

“Fucking bitch!” he grunted, scrambling back to his feet. He gave her a quick look, held a hand to his head, and retreated through the chamber. He ducked below a beam, heading towards the exit. “We’ll finish this another time!”

Ravager drew a sword and sprinted forward to pursue. She made it five steps before something in her chest popped. With a gasping cry, she fell to a knee. Deadshot’s form disappeared through the clock tower doorway and was gone. _Shit_. Wasn’t going to catch him in this condition. Uttering a few more hoarse coughs, she forced herself to her feet and hobbled to the exit. 

Another time, then. Looking forward to it.

* * *

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Rose muttered, standing in front of her locker with her shirt half-stripped off. She took a moment to catch her breath and let the throbbing subside. While her armor had protected against Deadshot’s bullets, they’d still left behind some wicked bruising. Deep purple and yellow blotches spread across her chest and abdomen—made changing into her uniform a slow, painful slog.

As she pulled out her uniform shirt, the locker room door opened. She hurriedly turned her back to pull on her shirt, but a sudden flare of pain locked her in place with a groaning cringe. Half a second later, she heard a surprised gasp of Spanish from across the room. Great, exactly what she’d been trying to avoid—was why she’d come to work so early, before Becky or any of the other day shift female officers got in. Evidently, not early enough.

“Sarah, what the hell happened?” Becky rushed over, dropping a backpack on the bench. “Let me see that.”

Rose turned with a grunt, exposing the hideous bruising for her partner to see. “It’s nothing, really. It’s just—”

“Oh no, don’t you go telling me it’s nothing,” Becky said, with a stern glare. “Who did this to you, huh? Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? I swear when I get ahold of the bastard—”

“No, whoa, slow down! Nobody did this to me, really.” Rose grimaced as she continued buttoning up her uniform. “It was an accident, that’s all.”

Becky furrowed her brow, eyes narrowing. “What the hell kind of accident did that to you?”

“Just a, uh, car crash. Yeah.” Sure, that was believable. “Swerved to miss hitting a dog, ended up hitting a pole instead. Bruises are from the seatbelt.”

With an exasperated mutter in Spanish, Becky shook her head and folded her arms. “And you wonder why I’m the one who drives, ah?”

When she finished buttoning her shirt, Rose clasped her belt around her waist. “Sure, make fun all you want. At least the dog’s alive, right?”

“Sorry, it’s just—it looked serious. My sister went through that kind of crap once. Bastard nearly put her in a coma.”

“Sorry to hear that. But yeah, no need to worry, promise. Was my own dumbass fault.” Rose fidgeted to get her belt into place. Another throb of pain forced her to take a breather, leaning against the side of her locker. “Men are the furthest thing from my mind right now, in any case.”

Becky offered a musing hum, as she opened her own locker. “Not big into men, ah?”

“Let’s just say I have a long history in failing miserably at relationships.”

“See, this is why you need to get out more.”

Rose grumbled, closing her locker door. “Yeah, well, like I said—we’ll see.”

* * *

“You sure you’re gonna be okay?” Becky asked, as the pair made their way through the police station. A few fellow officers gave passing waves and greetings on their way by. “You look ready to puke.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Rose said, with a forced smile. “Just hurts a bit to move. And breathe.”

Becky snorted a laugh under her breath. “Oh, is that all?”

“Fortunately, yes.” Rose paused a moment, taking a long look around the precinct. Uniformed officers mingled at desks, drinking their morning coffee. A couple of detectives stood at the water cooler, flipping through a folder together. Near the back, she spotted the police captain ducking into his office out of sight. A lot of resources in this building—time to make good on them. “Say, Beck, you ever hear of a hitman who goes by the name of Deadshot?”

Becky pursed her lips. “Doesn’t ring any bells, no. Why you ask?”

“Saw on the news someone might have sighted him in Silverstone the other day. Was wondering if it was something we should look into.”

“Strange,” said Becky, narrowing her eyes, “I didn’t see that story. Could ask Captain if he’s heard anything, but typically that kind of stuff would be looked into by our detectives.”

“But assuming the info hadn’t come by the station-” she returned Becky’s stare with a cocked brow- “Couldn’t hurt to look into it, right?”

Becky paused, and gave a long look towards the police captain's closed office door. “Would be a good way to put your name in line for making detective some day.”

“Can you pull Deadshot’s file from the national database?”

“Sure. Might take a couple favors around the station, but I could have it in a few hours.”

Rose grinned. “Good. I have a feeling we’ll find something worth investigating.”

* * *

Becky parked the squad car outside Marino's Italian Restaurant and gave the place a careful look. “This the place?”

Rose looked up from her files in the passenger’s seat. Several patrons sat at tables on the outdoor patio, enjoying their lunch, while she could see others inside through the large front windows. Not an overly fancy place from the look of it, but a step up from something like an Olive Garden for sure. “According to this, yeah."

She looked down at the first file—the one for Deadshot, real name Floyd Lawton. At first glance, there wasn’t a lot of useful information in this file that would indicate what he was doing in Silverstone, or why he might have been hired to kill the city’s Blade. But a little extra digging revealed the name of one of his most highly featured clients—Rupert Thorne. That led her into the second file. Rupert Thorne—a former mob boss out of Gotham City, put away years ago courtesy of Batman. 

So prominent in the criminal underworld, in fact, the police still kept tabs on him today. According to his file, he’d moved to Silverstone City a couple of years ago, leaving Gotham in favor of living out a quiet life, after he’d served out his prison sentence. But that was just the file. A man like Thorne never truly left behind the kind of crime he’d been involved with, no matter how effective he was at hiding it. The fact that he happened to be in the same city that Deadshot—an assassin he’d previously hired—had recently shown up in was worthy cause of investigation.

“Says he frequents Marino's Italian Restaurant for lunch every Monday, Wednesday, and Saturday,” she said, flipping through the file. “Like clockwork.”

“And today just so happens to be Wednesday.” Becky tapped her thumbs on the steering wheel. “Just remember, we don’t have anything on him right now other than conjecture. Most you can do is ask him some questions. And we’re technically not detectives, so even then don’t go too hard. I’d go in too, but probably best only one cop shows up, and you seem like you know what you want to ask.”

“Don’t worry, I got this. Promise.” Rose set the files down and exited the squad car. She made extra certain her badge was in place on her uniform. “Be back in a few.”

* * *

Rose entered the private dining area in the back of the restaurant, one hand held against her belt. A rotund old man with slicked back gray hair sat alone at the table dressed in a fine blue suit. He sipped from a glass of wine in one hand, a large hunk of garlic bread held in the other. “Rupert Thorne?”

He looked up at her mid-sip, cocking one of his brows. “Ah, Officer, how can I help?”

“Just hoping you can answer a few questions for me.” She approached the table, but remained standing.

Thorne put down his glass and his garlic bread, and wiped his hands clean on a napkin. “Of course, of course. Please, have a seat. Would you like anything? The wine here is wonderful.”

Rose eyed the chair, and after a long moment of internal debate, lowered herself into the seat. She grit her teeth the entire way, pain flaring through her chest. “I’ll pass on the wine. On duty, you understand.”

“Ah, of course,” said Thorne, with a flippant wave of his hand. “Silly me. Now, what can I help you with?”

“Ever hear of a man named Floyd Lawton?”

Thorne’s brow twitched at the mention of the name. He pursed his lips a moment, giving a hum of thought. “Afraid I can’t recall. I’ve met a lot of people in my day—hard to remember them all when you get to be my age.”

“That so? Well, then it might surprise you to know that you hired him on a couple of occasions before.”

“Ah, did I now?” Thorne gave a chuckle, and reached for his wine glass again. “Well, I'm sure he was a fine employee. Or maybe he wasn’t, and that’s why I can’t remember him.”

Rose narrowed her eye. “He's a contract killer, Mr. Thorne. Goes by the name Deadshot.”

Thorne took a slow sip of wine, the demeanor on his face shifting into one of stern annoyance. When he lowered his glass, he leaned forward and glared. “Fine, sure, I know him. What do you care, though? That was a long time ago.”

“According to my sources, he was sighted in the city recently.”

“And you think I had something to do with it?” Thorne scoffed, waving off the comment. “Officer, I assure you, I didn't hire that man. Haven't spoken to him in over a decade. In case you haven't noticed, I'm on the straight and narrow now. My criminal days are long behind me.”

Rose stared at the man. The way his tone shifted, the way he fidgeted in his seat—bastard was hiding something. If not Deadshot’s client, most likely still involved in some kind of illicit business. “For your sake, you'd better be telling the truth, Mr. Thorne. If you're not, I will find out, and I will be back.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” Thorne's gaze narrowed coldly at her. “And when you get in over your head and fuck up, I’ll be sure to ask around the department what a one-eyed beat cop was doing playing detective by accosting an innocent man. Now, if you’re done, I’d like to enjoy my meal in peace. Good day, Officer.”

* * *

Ravager perked up, staring over the edge of the rooftop. Rupert Thorne stepped out of the building below her and entered his car. A few moments later, he drove off down the street. Fucking finally. Three hours sitting there watching the apartment building, and the old geezer actually decided to go out. With a disgruntled sigh, she made her way to the side of the building and started down the fire escape. A loud thunderclap rumbled overhead. At least the rain had held off up until this point, but judging from the dark clouds rolling in, that wouldn’t last much longer.

Getting into the apartment was easy enough. Idiot didn’t even lock his window—the false sense of security from living on the third floor, maybe. Slipping inside, she closed the window behind her and looked around the interior. It wasn’t a large apartment, and was outfitted with mostly simple furnishings, aside from a couple abstract sculptures in the living room. So far, nothing disingenuous—certainly what he should be able to afford given his current salary. Well, couldn’t have expected to find signs of drugs or money laundering with a surface glance. Time to dig a little deeper.

She searched every square inch of the place—carefully, bit by bit, always making sure not to leave something out of place from where she’d found it. If there was any clue here that could link Thorne to Deadshot trying to kill her, she’d find it. At least, she hoped. An hour later, short of cutting into the man’s mattress in search for hidden items stitched inside, she’d run out of places to look. So, maybe this asshole was smarter than she’d given him credit for. He knew how to hide his tracks. Back to the drawing board.

Ravager slid open the window and ducked back outside onto the fire escape. By now, the rain was coming down in steady sheets. Blowing water off her lips, she darted up to the rooftop and made her way towards the next series of buildings. If he wasn’t hiding anything at his apartment, he probably had some kind of secondary location, like a hideout, or a secret meeting place. Maybe even where was right now. She’d have to tail him one of these days, figure out where he went.

A cold sheet of rain washed over her, sending a frozen ripple through her chest. She coughed, doubling forward with another agonizing pulse through her bruises. While she’d already healed a good deal of the damage throughout the day, moving the wrong way still hurt like a motherfucker. One more night’s sleep and she’d be good as new.

A white flash tore through her mind. She stiffened, and threw herself to the side. Seconds later, a pair of shuriken cut through the rain where she’d been standing. The thrown weapons clanged against the roof and skittered off into a puddle. Another pair of shuriken sliced through the air. She ran and slid, skidding across the wet rooftop to avoid them. Another flash of precog. She drew her sword, cut it forward—steel clanged against steel.

“Not bad,” said a smooth, feminine voice. The dark haired figure pulled back her own sword and repositioned her stance. “But how long can you keep it up?”

Ravager took her own stance and drew her second sword. The woman wore a green keikogi, soaked dark in the rain, and a white porcelain mask in the shape of a grinning cat. Two piercing green eyes stared out from behind it. Fucking for real? _Another_ assassin?

The woman charged forward, blade in one hand. With her other hand, she made a fist, causing four metal claws to extend from the knuckles of her glove. “Let’s find out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And in comes assassin #2! After surviving the first one, Ravager gets thrown in almost immediately against another, and now we see what this game of assassins is really about as they essentially put her through a gauntlet of fending off people trying to kill her. And not just typical street thugs, either. Again, these are notable assassins from around the DC universe. Who might this one be? Well, we'll find out in the next chapter, but if anyone wants to make a guess, have at it.


	16. Game of Assassins #4: Reminiscence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose meets an old acquaintance from the past, and gives Becky a scare when she ends up in the hospital.

The masked assassin lunged through the driving rain, swinging her blade with expert precision. Ravager sidestepped and parried with one of her swords. The assassin swiped with her claws, and Ravager parried again with her other sword. The assassin kept moving, crouched low—a sweeping kick. Ravager jumped over the attack and cut downward. Metal clanged through the storm. Repositioning herself, Ravager spun with a whirling kick at the back of the woman’s head. The assassin dodged, catching the kick against her body and trapping the leg. A countering kick spun one of Ravager’s swords out of her grip. Ravager yanked back her leg and lunged away—four razor claws swiped the open air inches from her face.

“You’re pretty good,” said the assassin, setting her stance again. “Young, but talented. Unfortunately, that talent won’t help you here.”

Ravager narrowed her eye, readying for the next assault. That voice—she’d heard it before, somewhere. A tug of familiarity pricked the back of her head. In one of Slade’s old files on rival assassins, maybe? Didn’t recognize the mask, but it might be new. The assassin charged again with another combination of sword strikes and claw swipes. Ravager parried and dodged, backing up to put distance between them. The way she fought too—the familiarity pricked harder, something far more than simply reading a name in a file somewhere. Who _was_ this woman?

Ravager pivoted her stance, preparing to counter. Agony pulsed through her chest. She cringed, and staggered. Fucking bruises—not now! The momentary lapse allowed the assassin an opening, and with a rising kick she knocked away Ravager’s remaining sword. The blade spun and clanged to the roof. Gritting her teeth, Ravager flipped away to avoid another series of quick sword slashes. Her boot slipped in a puddle. Another lapse, another opening. Claws swiped in. Ravager leaned away, but too slow—fire burned across her neck.

Righting herself with her fists raised, Ravager took a deep breath. The pain subsided a second later, and the warmth that trickled from the cut on her neck washed away almost immediately in the rain. Just a scratch—nothing to worry about. The assassin darted in again. A flash of precognition rippled through her mind. Not this time! Ravager ducked, catching one of the woman’s wrists in her grasp. She pushed through her opponent’s guard and leaped uwpard, leading with a knee. Porcelain shattered, as the blow collided square against the assassin’s face.

The woman uttered a cry of pain and stumbled backwards, slipping to her ass. Ravager ran in again to stomp her head against the roof, but she rolled away and popped up to her feet again. Large chunks of the grinning cat mask broke away, until the entire thing crumbled into pieces to expose the woman’s face, one of distinct Vietnamese descent. She scowled, and raced in for another attack.

That stinging familiarity ruptured at the base of Ravager’s skull. “Cheshire? Jade!”

Cheshire slid to a halt, catching her balance against the slick surface of the roof. Her eyes narrowed, questioningly. “Do I know you?”

How long had it been? Close to five years now probably, since they’d last seen each other. Rose had been barely fifteen at the time, and she’d only met Jade on a handful of occasions. Still, there was no mistaking her—pretty hard to forget Jade Ngyuen, the villainous mother of Lian Harper, after all.

“You probably don’t remember me, but-” Ravager peeled off her mask, exposing her own face- “It’s Rose.”

Cheshire glared a moment, examining her. A few seconds later, recognition flickered in her eyes. “You were Lian’s nanny. Last I saw you, you had both eyes.”

“Last I saw you, you didn’t wear a mask.”

Cheshire glanced towards the remains of her broken mask. “So, you’re my target?”

“Looks like it.” Rose folded her arms, watching the other woman carefully. “But why? Last time I spoke to Roy, he said you’d given up this business, after…”

“You mean after my daughter died?” Cheshire's hands tightened, balling into fists. She went silent, staring at the pieces of her mask, as rainwater pooled around it. “So I got back into it. A woman has to live, right? This is what I’m good at.”

Rose exhaled, and lowered her arms. Rain or not, she knew that kind of expression on Jade’s face—the grit teeth, the quivering jaw, the sharp breathing. She was doing her damndest to hold back tears. “I used to think the only thing I was good at was fighting, too. But believe it or not, I’ve managed to do a hell of a lot more with my life than beating the crap out of people.”

“Is this the part where you make your big hero speech, and tell me to see the error of my ways?” Cheshire scoffed, lifting her gaze to meet Rose’s eye. “Because if it is, you can save it.”

“Not even close,” Rose said, with a shake of her head. “I just want you to know I don’t want to fight you, and I don’t want to bring you in if I don’t have to. Not because I want to be your friend, or because I even like you that much—because to be honest, I really don’t. You’re still an assassin, and you’re still trying to kill me.”

Cheshire's brow twitched. “Then why are we even having this conversation?”

“Because I know life has kicked shit in your face for a long time, and despite what kind of person you are, even you deserve a break now and then.”

“And what would you know about it?”

“I know that you loved Lian. No matter what kind of life you led, she was everything to you, and I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I know how much that hurts. That’s why I’m offering you the chance to turn around and leave. And maybe reconsider your career path.”

Cheshire frowned. Her gaze lowered, eyeing the sword in her hand. “And if I should instead decide to finish my job?”

“Then I’ll break both your legs and drag you to the police station myself.”

A howling gust of wind tore across the roof, spraying a wall of rain over them. Thunder clapped overhead, a booming gunshot in the sky. No sign of the storm letting up any time soon. A second rumble of thunder sounded, and Cheshire sheathed her blade. She stretched out the fingers of one hand and tugged on her glove—the metal claws withdrew.

“You helped care for Lian when I couldn’t,” she said, with an acknowledging nod. “For that, you have my thanks. I’ll leave you be.”

Rose nodded in return. “Can you tell me who hired you?”

“I’m giving up my contract on you,” Cheshire stated, with a glare. “Don’t push your luck beyond that. I still have a reputation to keep.”

Rose grumbled—was worth a shot, in any case. “Fine. See you around, then.”

Cheshire marched to the edge of the roof and poised herself atop the parapet, looking downward. With a glance back, she said, “Goodbye, Rose.” With that, she leaped over the edge and was gone.

With a quiet sigh, Rose ambled across the rooftop to collect her swords. Another assassin attack, and no new leads. Fan-fucking-tastic. Real question was—had the same person hired Cheshire who had hired Deadshot? If so, that seemed like ridiculous overkill. If not, then she’d pissed off more than one person in this city, and they’d all had remarkably similar methods of trying to deal with her. Couldn’t be a coincidence.

As she sheathed her blades and put on her mask, fire burned across the scratch on her neck. Small at first, little more than a light sting—then it throbbed, and pulsed. She grit her teeth and clutched at her neck. The fuck? The burning subsided a moment later, but the throbbing remained—steady, rhythmic as a beating drum. Okay, that wasn’t normal. Probably time to head home for the night and get a fresh start tomorrow.

* * *

By the time Rose made it back to the penthouse and put away her gear, her breathing had become shrill and raspy. The fire burned hotter on her neck, tracing from the cut all the way down her arm, and through her chest. Couldn’t even feel the bruises now—just the burning, as though a white hot iron were pressed against her flesh. She tripped her way into the bathroom to find the mirror, everything spinning around her.

She caught herself against the sink. Images blurred in front of her, before clearing long enough to view her reflection. Dark lines of black and green traced along the veins in her neck. The wound itself had swollen from a cut into a festering gash, leaking with thick white pus. Panic jumped into her throat. Fucking _shit_. Definitely not normal.

Poison. Had to be—from Cheshire’s claws. But had Jade known she’d poisoned her target, or merely overlooked it? Fucking bitch. Rose’s breathing quickened. She stumbled out of the bathroom to her bed, half falling on her way to the mattress. She reached out for her phone on the bedside table and tapped the emergency call button.

Two rings, and then an operator's voice. “911, what’s your emergency?”

“Please—need—” A knot lodged in her throat, choking the words in place. 

“Ma’am, is everything alright? Please state your emergency.”

"Just—ambulance. Fucking send—” She coughed, as the entire room blurred around her. “Residential Towers. Top floor. Suite—suite H—H356!”

The phone tumbled from her grip. Rose blinked, attempting to move her fingers. Nothing—no movement, just numbness. Not just her hand either. Her entire left arm fell limp at her side, unresponsive. With a groaning cry of pain, she hobbled back into the main area of the penthouse to the entrance. Before her vision went dark, she managed to punch in the security code on the panel to deactivate the alarm system. The floor greeted her face half a second later.

* * *

Rose snapped open her eye and bolted upright in bed. Deep, gasping breaths surged from her lungs, as blurred images cleared in her vision. Fucking—where was she? She blinked, and rubbed her eye. The images finally cleared. Oh. The hospital. Her gut sank. Not exactly where she would have liked to wake up, but at least she wasn’t dead. Dull, lingering pain throbbed distant through her muscles. She pressed a hand to her neck—gauze and bandages, covering her cut. No burning.

“Sarah?” Looking to the open doorway of the hospital room, Rose blinked to see Becky standing there, holding a cup of coffee. Two seconds later, Becky dropped the coffee and ran to Rose’s bedside. _“¡Gracias a Dios!”_

Rose flinched, as Becky pulled her in for a tight hug. “Ow, ow, Becky—hurting.”

“Oh!” Becky released her and stepped away from the bed, brushing back a stray strand of her curly brown brown. “Sorry, I just—I didn’t know if you were going to make it. You sure know how to give a scare.”

“Didn’t know if—” Rose furrowed her brow. “How long have I been here?”

“Three days. You’ve barely moved the entire time. The doctors didn’t—well, they didn’t know when you’d wake up. Or if.”

“Three days!” Rose lurched on the bed, swinging one leg over the edge. Her heart thudded against her chest. “Where’s Holly? Is she alright? Who’s looking after her?”

“Easy, relax!” Becky moved forward, urging Rose back onto the hospital bed. “Holly’s at Mrs. Silva’s right now. I brought her by a few times to see you, too. She’s worried.”

“Mrs. Silva?” Rose relaxed against the bed, holding a hand to her forehead. “Guess I’m gonna be paying her some killer overtime. But still, no, that’s good. As long as Holly’s okay.”

“She might not have been if you didn’t wake up.” Becky’s gaze narrowed with a keen sternness Rose hadn’t seen from her before _._ “Girl, what the hell happened? The doctors said you were poisoned by—I don’t know, _something_. They couldn’t figure out what it was. They did what they could to keep you breathing but mostly had to wait for the poison to run its course and hope you pulled through. Lucky it was a small dose.”

Rose shifted in bed, absently pressing a hand to the bandage on her neck. Her enhanced metabolism had probably saved her life, in that case. “I don’t remember, really. I was in my bathroom one moment, then I collapsed—maybe something I ate?”

Becky’s frown deepened. “Something you ate? So I suppose the cut on your neck just came out of thin air? Sarah, please don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

 _“¡Ay Dios mío!”_ Becky threw up her hands in exasperation _._ “Lie through your teeth! Poisoned cuts? Massive bruising? Which, by the way, the doctors said couldn’t have been from a seat belt. What the hell is going on with you?”

Rose tightened her jaw, looking away. “Nothing. Really, Beck, I’m fine.”

Becky lowered her face into her palm and muttered to herself in Spanish. When she lifted her head again, she shot back, “Would you listen to yourself? Do you have any idea how full of it you sound right now? Sarah, please—who did this to who? Who are you trying to protect? If someone’s roughing you up and you’re bottling it up, I swear...”

“It’s not a big deal. I’m fine, I swear.”

“You were just in a coma for three days! You’re _not_ fine! Whatever’s happening with you, it’s getting you hurt, and—for Christ’s sake think about Holly! You think that girl wants to lose you, ah?”

A lump knotted in Rose’s throat. She swallowed it, and folded her hands together in her lap. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because you’re my partner! And my friend. And—and maybe I don’t want to lose you, either.”

Well, shit. Becky cared way more about her than she’d thought. Sure, they were friends, but this? They’d only known each other for a few weeks, and here Becky was showing up at the hospital and helping take care of Holly when Rose was in a coma.

“Sorry,” she muttered, with a shake of her head. “I’m just—I’m not used to people caring so much, you know? About me.”

Becky eased a cool breath and sat down in the chair next to the bed. “Well, maybe I kind of like you, ah? You’re a good friend, Sarah.”

“Right. Friends.” Rose gave an internal scoff. Such a good friend she was only lying about her entire identity every day.

“So, you gonna say you can’t remember anything again, or you gonna tell me what happened?”

“It was an old acquaintance.” At least that wasn’t a complete lie. “Just some of may past trying to crawl its way out of the gutter. Not something I want to go into detail about, but I promise you it’s taken care of.”

Becky’s gaze darkened again. “Whoever this was nearly killed you. You can’t go letting him get away with something like that. Tell me who he is, and we can go together. Bastard deserves to be in a cell.”

“I said it’s taken care of.” Rose returned the look, staring her partner square in the eyes. “I made sure of it. That’s all I can say, but it won’t be happening again. Trust me, please.”

With a harsh sigh, Beck slumped back in the chair with her arms crossed. “Alright, fine. I’ll take your word for it.”

“It was a personal issue, Beck. Had to handle it myself.”

“If you say so. Anyway, I’m glad you’re alright. Really. Just try to be more careful? I don’t want to see you in another hospital bed.”

“Promise.”

Becky offered a slight smile, then stood up and stretched out her arms. “In any case, guess I should let you get your rest. Took the day off, though, so I’ll stick around a while. Be outside if you need anything, kay?”

“Appreciate it,” she said, with a nod. “Talk to you later.”

* * *

Rose lay flat on the hospital bed, staring up at the ceiling. Six hours since her conversation with Becky, and she still couldn’t get it out of her head. Over and over again—Becky, worried out of her mind for the life of her partner, and she throwing back lies upon lies to cover her own ass. Rose had never cared so much about lying or stretching the truth if it meant saving her own ass, so why did this make her want to smash her own face into a wall? 

She’d never actually had a friend like this before. Sure, she’d had the Titans before she fucked things up with them. And she had Dick and Cassandra up in Gotham. But never someone she spent almost every day with. Spending hours upon hours talking to, getting to know each other, laughing and making dumb jokes together. Sitting in that squad car with Becky almost made her feel like a normal person. And yet here she was, spitting all over that with the lies from her definitely not normal secret life. Damn it, why hadn't Dick ever mentioned how fucking hard the whole secret identity thing was?

“Well, you look deep in thought,” said a feminine voice from the doorway. “Is this a bad time?”

Rose sat up and squinted at the figure in the door, silhouetted between the dark room and the bright hallway lights beyond. Becky had gone home hours ago, and she didn’t know anyone else well enough in Silverstone for them to visit her at the hospital. “Little late for visitors, isn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but this couldn’t wait.” The figure stepped further into the room, her features finally adjusting in the dim light—long dark hair, sunglasses hiding her eyes, and a dark green coat buttoned around her form. “I see you’re doing better.”

Rose shot upright in bed, tensing as best she could into a defensive posture. “Jade.”

“That is my name, yes.”

“What, you come to finish the job?”

“Hardly.” The master assassin stayed near the foot of the bed, arms stuffed into her coat pockets. “Came to check up on you. That’s all.”

Rose glared. “Right, so you’re saying you _didn’t_ mean to poison me.”

“Oh, no I definitely meant to poison you. That is, before we had our little talk. But I didn’t realize I might have actually cut you until I saw a few stray drops of blood on my glove. Lucky the rain didn't wash it all away.”

“And what, you felt bad?”

Jade sighed, taking one hand out of her pocket to lower her sunglasses. “Please, I may be a killer, but I still have a conscience. And I keep my word. When I realized I might have poisoned you, I tracked you down to this hospital, snuck in, and gave you the antidote. Would have been far too late for a normal person, but fortunately it seems you’re quite resilient.”

“Oh, gee, thank you for fixing the problem _you_ made,” Rose said, with a roll of her eye. “Not like I almost died or anything. Still, doesn’t explain what you’re doing here now.”

“I was waiting for you to wake up, and have a chance to talk with you alone-” Jade moved around the side of the bed and pulled her other hand out of her coat pocket, clutching a slip of paper- “So I could give you this.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, and snatched the paper from the woman’s outstretched hand. “What is it?”

“You asked for the name of the person who hired me, remember? That’s his name and address.”

Rose glared at the name: Francis Briggs. So, not Rupert Thorne. Which meant either Thorne was innocent, or there really were multiple people hiring assassins to kill her. “Why the sudden change of heart?”

“Maybe it’s as you said—I ‘felt bad.’ For almost killing you, and all.” Jade offered a nonchalant shrug. A moment later, her demeanor shifted with a quiet sigh. Taking off her sunglasses, she folded them into the front pocket of her coat and said, “And perhaps I wanted to show a little more thanks for what you did for Lian. Helping care for her, when I couldn’t be there. You were right. I did love her— _do_ love her—more than anything. And I miss her every day.”

Rose nodded slowly. “And I know she loved you.”

Jade sank into the chair next to the bed with an uncharacteristic chuckle. “She loved you too, you know. I didn’t get to see her often, but when I did she’d tell me stories of all her favorite people. Like Rosie, the super nanny who protected her Karate.”

Rose unwittingly snorted a loud, choking laugh, forced to cover her mouth to stifle herself. “Yeah, that sounds like her. I miss her, too. She was a good kid.”

“Yes,” Jade said, with a growing, distant smile, “she really was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we have the second assassin sent to kill Rose, although this one obviously ends quite differently to the first. I always wanted to bring Cheshire in to at least have some sort of small interaction with Rose, largely in part to their brief history (way back in some older comics, when Rose was Lian's nanny, they ran into each other a few times). While in the comics Jade has always been, well, not so great a person (this is the person who nuked an entire country, as I recall), she did always have one redeeming quality: her love for Lian. And given Rose's mutual care for Lian, it was something they could, if not bond over, at least reminisce about, since DC went and killed Lian (still haven't forgiven them for that). It also gives Rose to end a confrontation with something other than fighting, that being her compassion, which we don't see enough of.


	17. Game of Assassins #5: Lady In The Long Coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose begins having doubts about her vigilante work. Later, she's confronted by the third and final assassin sent to kill her.

“See, isn’t this nice?” Becky said. “Doesn’t kill you to get out and spend some time with a friend, ah?”

Rose breathed in a deep, freeing gulp of air. No more pain in her chest, no more poisonous fire burning through her veins—all that had healed ages ago, before she’d even woken from her coma. Still didn’t stop the doctors from keeping her there for another few days to monitor her, no matter her protests to the contrary. Not like she could put up too much of a fight, though—couldn’t exactly mention she had an enhanced metahuman physiology that could heal her injuries in a fraction of the normal time.

“Yeah, okay,” she said, with a begrudging smile. “Guess this isn’t so bad.”

The day was warm and sunny, with a cool breeze blowing through the streets of Silverstone—a good day, she’d admit. Not that they were doing anything special—just walking around downtown so far—but the company was nice. And it being Saturday meant she didn’t have to worry about work, or getting Holly to school, or only getting a couple hours of sleep. Also, the first real time she’d spent with Becky outside the squad car.

“And you even got to bring the kid along,” Becky added, with a smile.

Holly looked up, one hand holding on to Rose’s arm, the other clutched around a partially melted ice cream cone. She returned Becky’s smile, and then dove back into her ice cream. Couldn’t keep her distracted too long from her mint chocolate chip.

Becky winked, and looked back to Rose. “Like I said before, getting drunk, hooking up with random people, all that—not my thing. Just nice to walk around and enjoy the city sometimes, you know? Even better with a friend.”

“Alright, alright,” she said, raising her hands in defeat. “I concede. The company is welcome.”

“Ah, just welcome?” Becky grinned, and jabbed a playful elbow into her friend’s side. “Admit it—you like me.”

“Well,” she said, with a sly smile, “maybe a little.”

“Ha, that’s what I thought. Now, you ever been to Silverstone Park?”

“Can’t say I have, no.”

_ “Dios mío.” _ Becky’s eyes widened with genuine surprise. “You’ve been living here more than half a year and you never took a trip to the park? You really don’t get out much, do you?”

Rose shrugged. “I told you.”

“Oy, come with me.” Grabbing hold of Rose’s free hand, Becky began leading her and Holly down the sidewalk. “Don’t know what you’re missing.”

Rose didn’t put up much resistance, immediately quickening her stride to keep up. Holly, too, put a hustle in her step, even as focused as she was on her ice cream cone. She’d never been one to care much about parks or nature, but Becky sure seemed excited. Might as well go along with it. 

As they neared a crosswalk, movement caught her eye. She glanced towards a nearby alley. A figure stood there, obscured by the shadows of the buildings. Rose squinted for a better look, but Becky gave another tug towards the crosswalk. She looked away half a second to keep pace, and when she looked back again to the alley the figure was gone—merely the flutter of a long coat disappearing around the side of a building.

Curious. And strange. Was probably nothing, and yet a sinking stone dropped into her gut all the same. Hadn’t looked like Deadshot, and Cheshire had left Silverstone after their talk in the hospital. Yet another assassin? But then, she was in her civilian identity right now, so that couldn’t be right. Unless this assassin somehow knew her secret identity.

She shook the thought from her mind. Just paranoid, was all. It had been a long-ass week, and like hell was she going to ruin today by letting her night job get in the way. Looking away from the alley, she pulled back into stride with Becky and followed along the streets of Silverstone.

* * *

Silverstone Park was a natural haven amongst the steel and concrete of the surrounding city—open fields, manicured grass, large oak trees, bike paths, flower gardens, a glimmering pond, and even a children’s playground among its many attractions. Not quite Central Park up in New York, but close enough. Multitudes of people lounged around the park, reading on benches, or feeding ducks near the pond. Others jogged along the main path, while one group tossed a frisbee back and forth to one another. Strangely relaxing, all in all.

“You see? It’s a nice place!” said Becky, with a delighted grin. “Unless you’re the kind of person who hates nature.”

Rose smirked. “I suppose it’s not too bad.”

“I love coming here.” Becky stretched out her arms and leaned against the back of a bench. “Just watching the people go by, not a worry in the world. Helps pass the time, you know?”

“Guess you really weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t much of a party girl, huh?”

"Nah, hundred percent true, like I told you.”

Holly, meanwhile, finished off the remains of her ice cream cone and ran across one of the open lawns, heading for the playground. She found the jungle gym, and with a careful leap to take hold of the bars began a steady climb.

“Huh, I’d have thought she’d have outgrown things like playgrounds already,” Rose mused.

“Oh please, you’re never too old,” Becky said, with a chuckle. “Except maybe when you get too big for the slides—I might have gotten stuck in one once.”

“Suppose so. Wouldn’t really know—was never much of a playground kind of kid.”

Becky gave a side-eye and leaned closer. “Ah, so even as a kid you were a stiff?”

Rose couldn’t stop her grin. “That’s one way of putting it.”

They stood there a while longer, watching Holly swing her way across a set of monkey bars. A cool breeze rippled across the park, enough that a brief shiver tingled across Rose’s arms. When the breeze died down, warmth returned under the blazing sun of an open sky. Maybe Becky had the right idea. There was definitely something freeing about getting out and enjoying the fresh air. Holly seemed to enjoy the park too—they’d have to come back again sometime.

* * *

Emelia Delaney gazed out her highrise penthouse, taking in the afternoon sun above the city skyline. She should be enjoying the wonderful day. Could be, if her contact would answer the damn phone. Three attempts now, and no response. Perhaps a fourth would get her attention. This assassin was supposed to be the best in the business, but so long with no word and no progress—hardly promising.

Six rings, and the call cut out again. Didn’t even have the courtesy of having a voicemail on her burner. A fifth call, then. Five rings this time, and finally an irritated voice spoke into her ear. _Finally_.

“What is it?”

“Checking in,” Emilia said, marching across the hardwood floor in front of the windowed wall. “Since apparently you don’t know how to do that. Nearly three weeks since I hired you, and I haven’t heard anything.”

“You shouldn’t worry,” the woman replied. “I know full well what I am doing.”

Emilia rolled her eyes. “Of course you do. I’m merely concerned about your sense of timing. Cheshire may have ducked out already on Frankie, but Deadshot is still on the job. If he gets to her first, you don’t get paid. Remember that.”

The voice on the other line remained flat, unconcerned. “The money does not concern me.”

“Yes, yes, your whole sense of purpose thing,” she muttered, rubbing her fingers against her forehead. How many times did she need to hear this woman prattle about it? “I don’t suppose it bears repeating that if Deadshot kills her, you’ll never get a chance to test yourself against her.”

“If he kills her, then she won’t have been worth my time to begin with. Regardless, I am keeping a close eye on her.”

“Keeping a close—” Emilia stopped pacing mid-stride. “Are you saying you know who she is?”

“Yes. She’s at the park, currently. In line at a hot dog stand.”

“What? How?”

“Figuring it out wasn’t difficult. You only need to know what to look for.”

Emilia paused, waiting for more information. When nothing came, she spat, “Well, who is she? What’s her name?”

_ Click _ . The call cut out. Emilia stared at her phone for a good fifteen seconds in stunned disbelief, before she snapped out of her daze. With a furious shout, she threw the phone across the room.

* * *

“So, the guys down at the station are pitching in for a cake when you make your big return on Monday,” Becky said. “Just giving you a heads up.”

Rose groaned, swallowing a mouthful of hotdog. “Don’t tell me this is for my birthday. I swear, if you all break out into song, I’ll puke.” Granted, not her real birthday—Sarah Walker’s birthday, which according to her new identity was next week.

Becky snorted out a laugh. “Oh, no, you don’t get birthday cakes at Silverstone Central. Only ‘glad you didn’t die’ cakes.

“Sounds thrilling.”

“Oh, it is.” Becky took another bite of her own hotdog. “But it’s okay, we’ll do something special for your birthday, don’t worry. I know a great little place over on Levitt Street—best burgers in the city.”

“As long as you don’t have them come out with one of those little cakes and start singing ‘Happy Birthday’ to me,” Rose muttered, with a suspicious stare at her partner.

Becky grinned. “Please, I would never.”

Rose puffed out a laugh and took another bite. Celebrating her birthday, huh? Now there’s something she hadn’t done in ages. Maybe it wouldn’t be so terrible. She watched Holly on the playground a few more moments, then let her gaze wander across the park. Pretty normal people, from what she could see—kids, adults, old folk, and everyone in between, enjoying a beautiful day. How weirdly mundane.

A figure caught her attention. Or rather, the glimpse of a figure, as her gaze scanned across the open grass fields of the park—indistinct, other than the flutter of a long coat trailing behind. Rose blinked and snapped a look back at the tree where the figure had been. Nothing. The figure was gone—or had it been her imagination? She stared a few moments longer, but still no mysterious figure appeared.

Just her paranoia.

* * *

Rose stood in the center of her room, staring down at the Ravager mask in her hands. She’d put Holly to bed half an hour ago. Normally, she’d already be out there, patrolling the city in full gear. Tonight, she hadn’t even undressed to change outfits yet. Too much to contemplate, too much doubt.

Was this even worth it? She put her life at constant risk every night—each one just as likely to be her last as the previous. Sure, she had her training, and sure, she had her enhanced abilities. She even had precognition. But she wasn’t invulnerable like Superman. Couldn’t deflect bullets like Wonder Woman. Wasn’t impossible to keep up with like the Flash. Certainly couldn’t regenerate like Martian Manhunter. She could heal a bit faster, and was a bit more resilient than the average person—so freaking what?

None of that had ever mattered to her before. But then, she’d never had anything to lose before. All she'd ever had to do was the best she could, and if she got herself killed then big deal. No one would miss her. Just another cog in the neverending superhero wheel that needed to be replaced. But now? Now she had a kid in Holly. A best friend in Becky. She had a job, with people who actually cared about her. She had a whole damn life, a  _ real  _ one. If she went and got herself killed now, she’d be leaving a hell of a lot more behind than she ever would have before.

It would be easy, too, leaving it all behind. Just put down her swords, never put on her costume again, and keep on living as Sarah Walker, Silverstone City police officer. Settle down and live a  _ normal  _ life. Even these assassins would leave her alone. After all, they were out looking for the Blade, Silverstone’s new vigilante. If the Blade disappeared, they didn’t have anyone to hunt.

So, was this worth it? Again, she came back to the question. Was it worth going out every night risking her life, when she had so much to lose? Was it worth lying to everyone around her to cover her own ass? The answer should have been simple, but it only came when she thought of Holly. Of what that girl had been through. Of the kind of things Pavoni had done—all the things he could never do again, because Rose had stopped him. If not for her, those kids would still be missing. Their lives would be hell. And who knows what else would have happened with that Jerry asshole.

So yeah, it was still worth it. No matter how much she lied, or how much she stuck out her own neck, if she could help more people like Holly, then it was worth every damn second.

At least for now.

* * *

Ravager moved silently, keeping to the shadows of the darkened house. A clock ticked somewhere in the distance, the only sound amongst the otherwise quiet interior. She’d already taken out the whole two thugs patrolling the property—pretty shitty security really, for someone who was apparently a Silverstone crime boss. But then, couldn’t go outfitting your home with a swarm of armed goons and expect to stay off police radar. All the better for her, in that case.

Under normal circumstances, she wouldn’t invade a man’s home like this and grill him for information with his family so close, but she didn’t have much of a choice. If she wasted time digging up information about where he worked, or the clubs he frequented, she’d put herself at greater risk. Cheshire might have left, but Deadshot was still out there looking to put a bullet in her head. The next time, he might well succeed. The quicker she took care of this, the quicker she could stop it.

Ravager eased into the bedroom. The hinges on the door creaked ever so slightly, but not near enough to stir the individuals lying asleep in bed. She moved to the edge of the bed. On one side, a woman with long red hair slept soundly, hugging her pillow. On the other side, her target, a man with a buzzed head of hair and pencil goatee—Frankie Briggs. Alright, time to get what she came for.

Grabbing Frankie by the collar of his pajama shirt, she yanked him out of bed and whirled him up against the wall. The man jolted awake with a gasping sputter.

“Who the—what the fuck?” He blinked at her, squinting through the dim light. Recognition came after a few seconds, his brow firing upward. “Oh, motherf—!”

Ravager clamped a gloved hand over the man’s mouth, silencing him. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to answer. You should probably keep the volume down, if you don’t want to wake up your wife. Scream, and I’ll put my swords to use. I promise you, they’re not props.”

Frankie’s panicked eyes darted to the pair of sword handles jutting over each of her shoulders. A muffled squeal leaked out from beneath his clamped mouth, and he gave a frantic nod.

“Good.” She took her hand away. “I know you hired Cheshire to kill me. Did you hire Deadshot, too?”

“Oh, fucking—” Frankie whimpered, swallowing a nervous lump. “Did that bitch go and tell you? That backstabbing little—”

Ravager yanked him forward, then shoved him back against the wall with a thud. His wife stirred in bed with a grumble, but remained asleep. “Just answer the damn question.”

“Alright, alright!” he said, in a shrill whisper. “I swear, I only hired Cheshire. They hired the others.”

“Others, plural? You mean there’s more than just Deadshot?” When Frankie nodded, she pulled him nose-to-nose with her. “How many?”

“Other than Deadshot, just one. I mean, not including Cheshire. So, three total, but only one you don’t know about! I swear.”

“And who hired them?”

Frankie let out an exasperated sputter. “Oh, now come on, I can’t go and—”

Ravager shoved him back at arm’s length, and with one free hand drew a sword. She brought the point to his throat, without saying a word.

“Oh god, alright!” he blurted. “Rupert Thorne hired Deadshot! The other one was hired by a woman named Emilia Delaney. We sorta got rival operations to each other, but decided it was in our best interests to get rid of the vigilante causing us problems. That, uh—well, that’s you.”

So, she’d been right about Thorne after all. No surprise there. This Emilia was new, but not someone she couldn't handle later. More important things first. “The third assassin—what’s the name?”

* * *

Ravager scaled the brick wall surrounding the property and jumped over. The suburban street on the other side was quiet and deserted, dark aside from the periodic street light. She looked both ways, giving the area a careful scan. No sign of anything out of the ordinary. Yet. But judging from who the third assassin was, she wasn’t about to drop her guard.

She got halfway to the spot where she’d parked her motorcycle when she caught movement. Just the faintest of flickers, but enough to snap her attention towards a tree planted next to the opposite sidewalk. There, in the shadows—half a figure watching from around the tree trunk, a long coat fluttering around their form. So, hadn’t been seeing things after all.

“Come out,” she said, bringing a hand up to one of her swords. “I know you’re there.”

The shadowed figure stepped out from behind the tree on command. The warm glow of a street light washed over her—a woman with long dark hair wearing a scarlet shirt and ankle-length black coat, like she’d just stepped out of a bad _Matrix_ reboot. Minus the douchey sunglasses. Asian, from the look of it, maybe Chinese, her face sharp and narrow with a stern brow and piercing gaze.

Ravager frowned. Not hard to figure out who this was, considering Frankie had given her the name minutes ago. “So, you’re Lady Shiva.”

“Correct,” she said. “You’re off to a good start.”

“I’ve heard of you. Just never had a face to put to the name before. Lady Shiva—one of the world’s deadliest assassins.”

Shiva’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps  _ the  _ most, next to your father.”

Ravager flinched, shifting back a step. “How—?”

“Rose Wilson. Also known as Ravager. Or more recently, Sarah Walker. Otherwise known as ‘The Blade’ amongst the people of Silverstone.” Shiva walked a slow circle around her in the middle of the street, expression unchanging—cold, calculating, stern. “I do my homework before I confront my targets.”

“Right. Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. That was you following me today, wasn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“So, now you’re here to kill me?”

“Perhaps.” Shiva paused, looking Ravager up and down with a sharp, appraising gaze. “If you’re worthy.”

Ravager cocked an eyebrow behind her mask. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Shiva stopped circling and folded her arms across her chest. “I mean, I have yet to be convinced of your skill. Your father is a man well known for talent, however you are unproven. Though the scum of this city seems to fear you, I will be your true test.”

“A test?”

“These days, the only ones worthy of falling by my hands are the very best fighters in the world,” Shiva said. “If you fall short of my expectations, I will not give you that honor.”

Ravager scoffed, shifting into a combat stance. “As if you could. Still, you’re welcome to try.”

“Not here.” Shiva turned around and marched farther down the road, towards a cherry red motorcycle parked next to a fire hydrant. “Too public. If you follow me, I have a more suitable place in mind.”

Relaxing her stance, Ravager gave a low grumble and made her way towards her own ride. “Fine. Have it your way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we make it to the final assassin hired to kill Rose, the one and only Lady Shiva herself. She's a woman nearly unmatched in combative prowess, so certainly expect this to be Rose's toughest challenge yet. Especially considering the dynamic of Shiva wanting to test her, before deciding whether or not to kill her. She only wants the best from her opponents nowadays, as she said. And yes, the fact that she's Cassandra's mother will probably come up in the next chapter, but we'll see that when we get there. Also, we see more with the budding friendship between Rose and Becky, who is really all about showing Rose how to enjoy life. Rose hasn't really ever done that, or at least not in a long, long time. She's spent the better part of the last decade constantly fighting, so this is different. It leads to doubts, since she has a life now, and expect those doubts to come back again in the future.


	18. Game of Assassins #6: Shiva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager faces her toughest fight yet in Lady Shiva, who seems intent on testing her worth in battle.

Sure, follow the assassin trying to kill you to a mysterious, unknown location. A brilliant idea, for sure. Still, something about this woman struck Ravager as trustworthy. Vicious, lethal, and cold-blooded, sure, but also somehow bound by honor. Shiva didn’t seem the sort of lie or set traps—she wanted a fair fight. Otherwise, she’d have tried to ambush her the same as Deadshot and Cheshire had, rather than confront her ahead of time with exactly what she expected from their fight.

As Shiva slowed her motorcycle to a stop, Ravager did the same, parking a few bike lengths behind her. She removed her helmet and looked around. Massive steel beams and girders towered above them in the form of a skeletal building. An empty construction site in the middle of Silverstone City wouldn’t have been her first choice to do combat in, but it was definitely more private than the middle of a suburban street, far away from any prying eyes this late at night. Neutral ground for the both of them.

Ravager hopped off her bike and set her helmet on the handlebars. Shiva had taken off her own helmet as well, but still sat patiently on her motorcycle. “So, what are you waiting for?”

Shiva didn’t respond. She took her time, stepping off her bike and removing her long coat. She folded the coat and set it on the back of her bike, then took a few steps forward. Her eyes narrowed, as she shifted into a combat stance, body turned with one arm stretched forward, the other stretched back, palms to the sky.

“Guess you’re done talking?” When Shiva remained silent, Ravager sighed and drew her blades. “You realize I have swords, right?”

Still no response. Fine, well in that case. Ravager charged, swords at the ready. She moved into Shiva’s guard with two whirling slashes—strikes that to any normal opponent would have cut through tendons and crippled her. But Shiva wasn’t normal. Her counter was fluid, almost effortless the way she spun with the attacks and pushed Ravager’s arms aside. Sharpened steel cut through empty air. Two lightning quick blows lashed out, snapping into Ravager’s wrists. Needle-like pain raced through both arms, forcing her to step backwards. Her grip loosened, and both swords clattered to the ground.

“No weapons,” said Shiva, with a thrusting palm strike. 

The blow cracked into Ravager’s face and sent her stumbling backwards. Lights and colors flashed into her head, but another flicker overtook them—precognition, warning her to flip away from the following kick. Holding her nose, Ravager glared back at the assassin. That kind of combat speed—way beyond anyone she’d fought before. Couldn’t approach this fight the way she normally did.

“Fine,” she muttered, shifting into her own combat stance. “No weapons.”

Shiva lunged in with a vicious series of blows. Ravager’s precog went off, but the flash of images couldn’t keep up with the assault. Kicks and punches blurred at her, far too fast for her mind to keep up with. She fought with instinct and reflexes alone, desperate to deflect each strike. Block, dodge, counter—too slow. Within seconds, Shiva’s knee plunged into her gut, followed by a leaping kick that cracked her face to the side. Ravager tripped to her hands and knees, spitting blood from her mouth into the dirt.

“You’re good,” Shiva said, circling around her opponent, “but not great. Fast, yes. Strong, yes. But you lack in skill. In a fight like this, you fall behind.”

“In a fight like this?” Ravager grimaced, wiping the cut on her lip clean. “In case you haven’t noticed, this fight isn’t over yet.”

Ravager sprang upward with brutal kick. Shiva stepped to the side and lunged with another quick palm strike. Not this time. The instant her precog went off, Ravager dropped her leg and caught the woman’s wrist. She pulled Shiva forward. Knuckles cracked into the assassin’s jaw—the same time as Shiva’s boot lifted to carom off the bottom of Ravager’s chin. Both women disengaged, stumbling backwards.

Shiva pressed a hand to her jaw. Bright crimson streaked from the open gash on her lips. “I will say, you hit hard. That’s good. You’re starting to impress—a little.”

“Yeah, well I’m just getting started.” Ravager shook her head, clearing the pounding between her ears. “I got plenty left in the tank.”

Shiva lowered into her stance. And waited. Didn’t move, didn’t so much as twitch a muscle—just stared. Well, if she wasn’t going to make the first move… Ravager grit her teeth and ran forward. She shifted when she got into range, leading with a roundhouse kick. Shiva stepped to the side and pushed the kick away. In the same effortless motion, she crouched low and sprang upward with a jab to her opponent’s throat. Ravager leaned her head to the side to cause the strike to glance off, but a spasm shuddered through her neck all the same. Ravager backpedaled with a fit of coughing and gagging, holding a hand to her throat. Each breath quivered, a desperate struggle for air.

Shiva pressed the assault. A punch thudded into Ravager’s chin. Then a kick to the ribs, bursting any air she had in her lungs out in a single puff. A third strike cracked into the side of her head. Ravager stumbled. A white flash exploded through her head—enough of a glimpse into the future to see the palm racing at her face. Instinct lashed her hand forward, catching the assassin’s wrist to stop the blow inches from her nose. With her other arm, she grabbed her opponent at the elbow. A shift sideways and a step forward—Shiva’s arm locked in place, held by Ravager’s superior strength.

“Okay, now-” Ravager thrust her entire head forward, bashing her skull square into Shiva’s nose. Releasing the hold, she followed with as hard a kick she could muster to the chest- “You’re really starting to piss me off!”

Shiva ran back several steps. Her knees buckled, but she remained standing. Gouts of crimson poured free from her now very broken nose. “Better. Much better.”

Ravager heaved several deep breaths and raised her fists. “So, am I worthy yet?”

“You have potential. Much as my daughter did, the times we fought. Perhaps I shall bring it out of you as I did with her.”

“Your daughter?” Ravager glared, squinting at the woman’s features. There was a certain familiarity there, now that she looked for it. The shape of the face, the tone of her skin, and especially the eyes—no, couldn’t be. “Not...Cassandra?”

Shiva’s brow lifted. “You know my daughter?”

Well, shit. Maybe it could be. “You gotta be kidding me. I mean, yeah, we’re—well, we’re kinda friends.”

Shiva offered a hum of amusement. “Interesting. She’s never mentioned you.”

“So we’re fairly new friends—not the point.” She narrowed a glare behind her mask. “You know, she told me her dad did a lot of fucked up shit to her before. Something tells me you weren’t much better.”

“I made her stronger,” Shiva said, a subtle bite in her tone. “Brought out her true potential. I may have been hard on her—I may have even killed her—but only to help her ascend.”

Ravager’s heart jumped. “Wait— _killed?”_

“She became better because of it. Stronger. Even defeated me. But can you?” Shiva readied her stance, staring with harsh, lethal intent. “Let us find out.”

Shiva darted in for another attack. Ravager met her head on. While their previous exchanges had been more in Shiva’s favor, Ravager had a good bead on her now. The speed, the placement of the strikes—she could match them. Or at least follow them. Perhaps not blow for blow—Shiva landed a good twice as many hits—but Ravager hit harder. For every series of whipping stings the assassin delivered, Ravager hit back with a crushing blow.

The pair became a dervish of back and forth strikes, each one more focused than the last. Shiva drove a pair of elbows into Ravager’s ribs with a force that exploded even through her armor, hunching her forward with a gasping cough. Ravager countered with a stomp to the inside of her knee. Something popped, and Shiva staggered, but maintained her balance. Another rising palm greeted Ravager’s chin—colors exploded into her vision. Another three vicious strikes impacted her gut, but she swallowed the building nausea long enough to whip around the backside of her fist. Knuckles cracked against Shiva’s skull, pushing the assassin away with a wobbling stumble.

“It appears-” Shiva held a hand to her head as she righted her balance. She blinked, her eyes staring out of focus- “I may have underestimated you.”

Ravager hunched forward and coughed. A gross mix of blood, bile, and vomit sprayed from her lips, which she promptly wiped clean. She spit the remainder from her mouth and straightened herself into a shaky, staggering combat stance. “Told you. I know what I’m doing.

Shiva blinked a few more times and shook her head. The blood from her nose gushed so profusely at this point, her entire mouth and chin were coated with a bright crimson mask. She blew away a red mist from her lips and took her own stance. “That means I can end this now.”

When the assassin rushed in, Ravager readied herself. Waited for the opening, the flash of precognition—the perfect moment to counter. When Shiva shifted her stance, she thought she saw it, and raised her fist. But Shiva’s movements stopped abruptly. She back-stepped and spun, whirling the other way. The precog came, but Ravager stumbled to catch up, knee buckling beneath her. Shit—too fast!

The points of Shiva’s knuckles exploded into Ravager’s chest. Pain erupted into her sternum, so fierce and so sharp her armor might as well not have even been there. She stumbled with a wheezing gasp, a hand pressed to her chest. She’d been hit by powerful blows before, but this—this had traveled through her entire body. Her _soul_.

“What. The hell.” Ravager dropped to her knees, gulping with frantic, desperate gasps. Her lungs spasmed, begged for air. Doubling forward, she wretched again, spewing another mouthful of blood and bile into the dirt. “What did you—what is this?”

“That was merely the precursor.” Shiva stood over her and raised a hand, fingers pointed and extended. “Now for the finishing blow!”

With a fierce yell, Shiva lunged, thrusting the point of her fingers at her victim’s throat. Ravager stared, her mouth half agape with blood leaking down her chin. She raised an arm to defend herself, but the images flickering through her head already told her it wouldn’t stop Shiva from tearing out her throat. Or at least they should have. Instead, the precognitive vision shifted halfway through, altered into a new scene. A new potential fate. Not _her_ death at all. Instead—

“Get down!” Sudden adrenaline burned like wildfire through her muscles. She sprang from the ground and dove forward, throwing her entire body into Shiva mid-attack. The two collided with a dull smack, tumbled backwards—a gunshot ripped through the night.

As soon as they hit the ground, Ravager grabbed Shiva by the wrist and pulled her behind a nearby rubble pile. Another gunshot rang out. This time, the bullet ricocheted off a concrete block in a bright shower of sparks.

“Ya know, that’s really starting to get annoying.” Deadshot wandered into view, perched atop one of the metal girders twenty feet above them with his wrist-mounted guns pointed at their hiding spot. “Come on out, ladies! I got a bullet for each of you—one for the paycheck, and another for the bitch trying to steal it.”

Ravager peered around the edge of the rubble pile, just far enough to catch a glimpse of the armed assassin dressed in his full suit, complete with optic lens. She ducked away a moment later, as another gunshot ripped into a chunk of concrete near her face. Well, this certainly complicated things, especially if Lady Shiva decided she still wanted to fight. Ravager glanced to the other assassin sitting on the ground next to her. Shiva hunched against the rubble, holding one hand to her shoulder. Blood gushed out from between her fingertips.

“He interrupted our fight,” Shiva said, with a subtle bite of irritation in her tone. “I hate having my fights interrupted.”

Ravager narrowed a look at the woman’s bleeding shoulder. “You hit?”

“It is minor. I’ll be fine.” Shiva returned the look, her brow lowering with curiosity. “But I would be dead, had you not pushed me away first. Why did you save me?”

“Because I’m the good guy. It’s kinda what I do. Now, can you stand or what? We got a madman with guns breathing down our necks, and we’re both in rough shape.”

“Of course I can stand,” Shiva scoffed, pushing her way up to her feet. She leaned against the rubble and heaved a deep breath to steady herself. “I’ve been shot, not crippled.

Deadshot’s voice called out from the girders above. “Ladies, please. You’re not seriously going to make me come down there, are you? Come on out and line up. Make this easy on yourselves.”

“We will need to work together,” Shiva said, “or he will kill both of us.”

Ravager frowned. “Yeah, I’m aware. You got a plan?”

She looked up, her gaze scanning the shadows of the skeletal building above them. “Perhaps one of us could draw his fire, while the other climbs the beams to his vantage point and strikes while he is distracted.”

“No, can’t sneak up on him. Believe me, I’ve tried. With that suit of his, he’ll hear you coming from a mile away. We’ll need to bring him down to us.”

Lady Shiva paused, sweeping her gaze towards the rubble pile. With her good arm, she grabbed a rusted piece of rebar and broke it away from a concrete block with a firm yank. “Can you keep him occupied for a moment?”

“I can try. Why?”

Shiva tossed the rebar into the air, giving it a spin and catching it, testing its weight. “I believe I can bring him down.”

“Fine, just don’t miss.” Ravager eased around the edge of the rubble, scanning the grounds for more cover. “I really don’t feel like getting shot. Again.”

With a deep, steadying breath, she darted into the open, towards the shadowed form of a dormant backhoe. Gunshots cracked through the night. Ravager trusted her precog, dodging and weaving out of the paths of the bullets. With a lunging roll, she slid in behind the backhoe. Another volley of bullets pinged into the machine, unable to reach her.

“I am getting real tired of you!” Deadshot called, with a frustrated grumble. “Just hold still!”

Ravager glanced back towards the rubble pile. A free floating piece of rebar waved at her from around the corner. Taking that to be a signal of some kind, she raced out once more into the open, further arcing away from where she’d started. Deadshot turned to follow her and fired another barrage. More flashes of the future—more bullets to dodge. Throwing herself behind a steel beam, she shot a look back towards the rubble.

Shiva darted out from the other side. With a quick plant of her feet, she pivoted, wound back her arm, and chucked the hunk of rebar through the air. The solid steel bar spun like a pinwheel towards its target. Deadshot raised his wrists again to fire, but turned a sharp look towards the sound of the projectile rushing at him. By the time he saw it, the only thing he could do was raise his arms in defense.

“Son of a—!” His words cut out with a cry of pain as the rebar collided with his midsection. He stumbled backwards, one foot slipping off the steel beam he was standing on. He lashed his arms out in attempts to catch his balance, but only slipped further. He fell into open air. Ten feet down, his body smacked into another beam, bouncing away and spinning to the ground with a thud. He groaned, slowly pushing his way to his feet.

He turned directly into a fist to the face. Ravager followed with a second punch, then a whirling kick to the chest. Deadshot grunted, tumbling head over heels. He slid to a stop on his knees. Before he could right himself, Shiva lunged in from behind with a flying kick to the back of the head. This time, Deadshot face-planted into the dirt, ass up and unmoving.

Ravager huffed out a deep breath and collapsed against a nearby pillar. “Well, that was annoying.”

“I do not believe he’ll be getting up for a while,” Shiva said, eyeing the unconscious man with a cold glare.

“I’d still better find something to tie him up with. He’s my only link to Rupert Thorne’s involvement in this, plus the other crime bosses. Can’t risk him getting away again.”

Shiva nodded, and turned around. “In that case, I will take my leave.”

Ravager frowned. “What, not gonna try and kill me first?”

“Our battle was interrupted, and its outcome tainted.” Shiva glanced to the bullet wound in her own shoulder. Her entire left arm hung limp at her side. “Trying to finish it now would be pointless, and would not tell me what I needed to know.”

“And what exactly were you trying to figure out?”

“Which of us is the better, of course.”

Ravager narrowed her glare, pushing herself straighter against the pillar. “You seemed pretty confident I wasn’t on your level earlier.”

“And yet you proved me wrong.” Shiva marched to her motorcycle and retrieved her coat. Gingerly, she slipped her wounded arm into one sleeve, before pulling the coat on fully. “You held your own, even evaded my Leopard Blow. In a way, I am pleased we were not able to finish this fight now.”

“Yeah, and why’s that?”

“Because-” Shiva seated herself on her motorcycle, grabbing for her helmet- “You still have a lot to learn. Your skill is growing, and I sense great potential within you. In time, you could very well surpass me, as my daughter did when she reached her full potential. If I had killed you tonight, we would never know.”

“Right…” Ravager pushed off the pillar and began a slow hobble towards the woman. “And I suppose you want to know?”

“Indeed.” Shiva placed her helmet on her head, and gave a brief glance backward. “Once you have further improved, I wish to test myself against you once more.”

Standing next to the bike, Ravager folded her arms across her chest. Pain ripped through her ribs, but she swallowed it down. “Just name a time and a place.”

“One year to the day.” The engine of Shiva’s motorcycle roared to life, rumbling beneath her. “Look for me to contact you then.”

“A year? Works for me.” 

Shiva shifted on her seat, ready to drive off. “Good. I will look forward to it.”

“One more thing-” Ravager let her arms drop, and gave the assassin a stern glare- “When you say you killed Cassandra…”

“I mean I beat the life from her with my own hands,” Shiva replied, returning a partial glance. “And then restarted her heart so we could finish the fight. But she did kill me later, so you might call us even. Ask her to tell you about it some time.”

With a rev of the engine, Shiva sped forward through the construction site, kicking up a cloud of dust in her wake. Moments later, she disappeared. Ravager stood there staring at where the assassin had been. When her vision started to blur, she blinked, and wandered back towards the unconscious Deadshot.

“Man,” she muttered, “and I thought _my_ family was fucked up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I hop that fight felt brutal, because that's what I was going for. Unlike most of Rose's other opponents, Shiva was at her level or beyond in almost every aspect, even without metahuman enhancements. This was never going to be an easy fight, in fact being the toughest she's ever had from an opponent of similar power. Shiva is well known for being one of the top martial artists in the DCU, with very few defeats in a fair fight. Rose might have great physical prowess thanks to her enhancements, as well as her precognition, but when it comes to technical skill, Shiva has her outclassed in every aspect. At least, for now. As Shiva said, Rose has a lot of untapped potential waiting to be nurtured, so we'll see where that takes her in the future.
> 
> One more chapter for this story arc, more of a winding down of the overall events up to this point.


	19. Game of Assassins #7: A Very Happy Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose enjoys a night out with Becky to celebrate her birthday, but is oblivious that it was meant to be something more.

The following week at Silverstone Central was chaotic, to say the least. After a bound and unconscious Deadshot arrived out front in full costume, with no clues on how he got there, the entire station had been working overtime to figure out what in the hell was going on. Namely—what was Floyd Lawton, a highly dangerous killer and wanted man, doing in Silverstone, and who had hired him? Not to mention, who had taken him down and brought him to the police station?

Rumors followed, of course, none of which Rose did anything to stifle. Their primary candidate for taking out Deadshot? The Blade, of course. A few officers had their doubts, but who else in the city could have confronted such a dangerous man and come out alive? Certainly not the average citizen. So let them gossip and hypothesize—the more they believed in the Blade, the less scrutiny she’d be under while operating in the city.

Getting Lawton to talk had been easy enough. Dangle a nice looking deal in front of someone’s face, and they jump at the chance for a reduced sentence, even if it means implicating other people. Like the person who’d hired him—one Rupert Thorne. A little investigating dug up the paper trail, and Thorne was brought in days later. Of course, the crime boss wasn’t about to go down by himself, and soon enough one Frankie Briggs and Emilia Delaney joined him for their own dealings with hired killers.

With that hectic week behind her, Rose sat in front of her locker with a weight lifted from her shoulders and the weekend ahead of her. She even found herself humming, as she changed out of her uniform. Most of the injuries she sustained from Lady Shiva had healed by Monday, thankfully—didn’t have to worry about trying to hide them from Becky, especially so soon after their talk in the hospital. Only a few minor cuts and bruises had lingered after the weekend, and those she’d managed to cover with a bit of makeup—probably the only time she’d ever bothered to actually wear makeup. The pain was gone, though, her body back to one hundred percent.

As she gathered her clothes together so she could hit the showers, the locker next to hers closed. Becky stood there, standing casually with her arms folded, and a half-cocked grin on her face.

“Trying to duck out early?” Becky said.

“Hmm? Oh, no.” Rose yawned, stretching her arms out above her head. “Just needed a quick shower before heading out. Been a long day.”

“Mhm.” Becky pursed her lips, giving a curious look. “You haven’t forgotten what today is, have you?”

“Uh, Friday?”

“Ha, very funny.”

Rose blinked, rubbing the back of her head in thought. What else was today supposed to be? “Sorry, I really have no idea.”

_ “Ay Dios mío.”  _ Becky dropped her face into her hand and shook her head. “I swear, there’s something wrong in that noggin of yours.”

“Come again?”

“Girl, it’s your birthday!”

“My—” Rose blinked, and it came to her. Right—Sarah Walker’s birthday was today.  _ Her  _ birthday. “Oh, right, totally forgot. Long week.”

Becky snorted a laugh. “Forgetting your own birthday? That’s a new one.”

“Yeah, well things have been a bit crazy around here lately,” she said, with an idle shrug. “Just slipped my mind. What about my birthday, anyway?”

“Ah, come on, I told you we’d do something special, didn’t I?” Becky took a step forward and wrapped a playful arm around Rose’s shoulders, leaning in with a grin. “You, me, tonight—we’ll have a good time, celebrate. I’m gonna make this birthday special.”

Rose blinked at her. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I’m serious, girl! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“It’s just—I don’t know. Guess I’m not used to people making a big deal over my birthday.”

“Ah, well there’s a first time for everything, right?”

“I mean, I suppose,” she muttered, with a questioning frown. “But still, I don’t know. I mean, I have to get back to Holly…”

Becky pouted, narrowing her gaze. “Ah, come on. You’ll come up with any excuse to avoid having a good time, won’t you? Hire a sitter or something. You can manage one night, yeah?”

“Well, sure, but it’s a little short notice to find a sitter. Mrs. Silva isn’t available after six, and I don’t know anyone else who—”

“Then my sister can watch her! She’s great with kids, and she’s always looking to make a bit of extra cash. Could have her at your place any time, only lives just downtown.”

Any last bit of resistance Rose had been building broke away with a heavy, defeated sigh. There really wasn’t any getting out of it, was there? Still, maybe it would be fun. “Alright, alright. We can go out.”

“Perfect!” Beck clapped her hands together and gave a wide grin. “In that case, I’ll pick you up around seven, ah?”

A slow smile spread across Rose’s lips. “Yeah, sure. Seven sounds great.”

* * *

“So,” Becky said, “good, ah?”

Rose pushed away her empty plate with a pleasant groan and slumped back into her chair. She’d had plenty of burgers before, but that was a whole different experience. How any burger could be cooked to such perfection—the juiciness, the spice, the flavor,  _ everything _ —she would never know. Even the bun, buttered and lightly toasted—exquisite. “Good? Trying fucking amazing. How do they get it that savory _and_ sweet?”

“I think that’s the sauce,” she said, mopping up a stray glob of the special burger sauce on her plate with one of her last french fries. “Dunno what they put in it, but I don’t care.  _ Perfección.” _

“You said it. Goddamn perfection.”

Becky chuckled, munching on her french fry. “Glad you like it. I love this place—favorite restaurant in the city. You want, we can come back again sometime.”

“Yes, absolutely yes.” Rose grabbed one of her own remaining french fries and took a bite. “So, what’s up next on my grand birthday celebration tour?”

“Thought we might hit up the skating rink. Ever been?”

Rose swallowed her fry. “You mean like on ice?”

_ “Sí.” _

“Uh, yeah that’d be a definite no.”

Becky grinned. “Oh, I am going to have fun teaching you, in that case.”

“Ten bucks says I pick it up in five minutes.”

“Really now? That’s quite some confidence.”

Rose shrugged, flashing a smirk from across the table. “I’ve always been a fast learner. Especially when it comes to physical stuff.”

“Oh, you’re on,” Becky said, leaning forward on her elbows. “Can’t wait to see you flailing to keep your balance.”

“Well, if you’re in that much of a hurry, maybe we should get going.”

“Ah, not quite yet.” Becky’s grin widened, as she turned a look towards the back of the restaurant. “There’s still one more thing we have to do here.”

Rose furrowed her brow, following her friend’s gaze. “And what’s that?”

“Dessert.”

Rose’s heart jumped in her chest. Oh no—don’t tell her. Moments later, the doors to the kitchen opened, and a waitress emerged carrying a small tray of cake, atop which blazed a tall birthday candle. Two more waiters followed, all three of them singing ‘Happy’ Birthday’ as loud as they could, drawing the attention of the entire restaurant as they made their way towards Rose and Becky’s table. Rose immediately pressed into her seat, in a futile attempt to disappear through the chair.

_ “Becky. _ You are  _ evil.” _

Becky broke out into giggles. “You said before you've never had a lot of attention on your birthday, yeah? Wanted to make sure you got the whole experience.”

Rose covered her face to avoid looking at the singing waiters. There was a time when she probably would have stood up, flipped the table, and stormed out of the restaurant rather than have to suffer through that utter embarrassment. And yet for some reason beyond her understanding, she found herself smiling behind her hands, reluctantly sitting there and enduring the lyrics, even as Becky joined in the singing. Or rather, maybe  _ because  _ Becky joined in the singing.

What a bizarre, remarkable thing, having a best friend.

* * *

“Looking real good there.” Becky chuckled, skating backwards with all the effort of walking on normal ground. “A regular master.”

Rose’s legs wobbled back and forth. The more she tried to steady herself, the more her feet bowed outward, only to glide sharply back together again. Slowly, she skated forward, bit by bit, inch by inch, with her arms waving out at her sides to maintain balance. No big deal, this skating thing. She’d have it down in no time. Just needed a little more practice.

One of her skates caught on the ice. The other kept moving forward, and soon Rose found herself in a slippery, unsteady run in place, arms flailing in desperation to keep upright. Seconds later, the ice rushed upward to greet her. She landed with a dull thud, legs bent upward behind her. Fucking _ow_.

“Oy, that did not look pleasant.” Becky skated next to her and leaned over with a hand outstretched. “Want some help?”

Rose glanced up with a grumble, her cheek still pressed against the cool ice. “You didn’t see that. Nobody saw that.”

Becky snickered, glancing around the ice rink. A half dozen other people skated around near the edge of the rink, while she and Rose were taking their time in the center. A couple of the other skaters watched them, evidently intrigued at the new girl trying to learn. “Oh, of course not. Didn’t see a thing, I swear.”

With a reluctant sigh, Rose reached up and grabbed Becky’s hand. Getting her upright and stable again took a minute, as she continued to wobble off balance. Becky steadied her, taking hold of her hands. Keeping their hands held together, Becky skated backwards, pulling Rose along with her.

“We’ll take it nice and slow,” said Becky. “And I promise I’ll catch you if you start to go down again.”

“Right, nice and slow.” Rose stared at her feet, watching her skates glide shakily farther apart and back together. Why in the hell was keeping them straight so damn difficult? “I got this, no problem.”

“Harder than it looks, ah?”

“Hey, I only have one eye. It’s the depth perception.”

Becky raised an unconvinced eyebrow. “Funny, doesn’t keep you from having perfect accuracy in target practice.”

Rose huffed, gingerly skating along with her friend. At least with Becky guiding her now, she wasn’t flailing. “Guess I owe you that ten bucks, huh?”

“A nice sentiment, but nah. Not gonna take your money on your birthday.”

“Oh, well how courteous.”

Becky smiled, pulling them into a slow, wide turn. “But I will say, the whole eye patch look? You make it look good.”

Rose looked back at her with a curious stare. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm, it’s very distinguished. Some people might even say sexy, ah?”

“Ha, right. That’s what really gets people going—grotesque facial scars.”

Continuing through the turn, Becky guided them around in a circle, gradually steadying Rose’s wobbling skates. She paused a moment, giving a close look to Rose’s eye patch. “Mind if I ask what happened? To your eye, I mean.”

“My—oh.” Rose instinctively withdrew one of her hands and pressed it over her eye patch. Memories flashed through her head, in a horrible slideshow of drug-induced psychosis. One more thing she could thank her bastard father for—manipulating her to such an extent she would have gone to any length to appease him. Like gouging out her own eye to prove she was just like him. “Fishing accident. I was ten—my dad went to cast his line, but didn’t know I’d run up behind him. Hook caught me.”

Becky winced. “Ouch. Had to be tough, growing up like that.”

“I got used to it eventually. Never really let it bother me too much.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I’ve never seen anyone make an eye patch look hotter.”

Rose burst out with a laugh. “Right, now you’re fucking with me.”

“Nah, that’s not fucking with you-” Becky grinned and pulled away, letting go of Rose’s hands- “This is fucking with you.”

As soon as the extra stability from Becky’s guidance disappeared, Rose went back into a flailing stumble across the ice. “Damn it, Becky, come on!  _ So  _ not funny!”

She made it another ten feet before her skates slid out from underneath her, and once again the ice came rushing forward. Before she collided this time, a figure slid in and grabbed hold of her. Her gut rose up into her throat for half a second, before dropping back down again. She blinked, her face hovering only a few inches away from the ice, and turned a look to see Becky holding on.

“You see?” Becky gave a wink. “Told you I’d catch you.”

* * *

“And that-” Rose stepped backwards, eyeing the bowling ball carefully as it curved towards the pins. With a distinct, perfect clatter, all ten pins exploded into the pit- “Is how it’s done.”

Back in the settee, Becky stared with her mouth hanging open. “I don’t—I thought you said you’d never bowled before!”

With a delighted, cocky grin, Rose marched over to the scorecard, so she could mark off yet another strike. “I haven’t.”

“Okay, no—The first couple I might have called luck, but five strikes in seven frames? That is not luck! You haven’t even  _ touched  _ the bumpers.”

Rose glanced towards the miniature guardrails blocking the gutters on either side of their lane. With a nonchalant shrug, she said, “Guess I don’t need them.”

_ “Increíble.” _ Becky let out an exasperated sigh, as she got up for her turn. “Am I being hustled? Feels like I’m being hustled.”

“Being hustled only counts if you’re losing money from it,” she replied, flopping back down in her seat with her hands held behind her head. “Pretty sure those are the rules.”

Becky turned an unamused glare over her shoulder. “And I’m pretty sure you’re making that up.”

Rose smirked. “Maybe I’m just fucking with you?”

“You’re—” Becky humphed, followed quickly by stifled chuckling, as she turned back around to bowl her frame. “Touché.”

The first ball of the frame curved into the side of the pins, blasting through seven of them in the first instant. One of the pins fell and spin, knocking over an eighth before disappearing into the pit. That left only the two pins furthest back and farthest apart—the infamous 7-10 split. Undeterred, Becky pursed her lips and grabbed the second ball, sliding her fingers into the holes. With a quick, focused approach, she released the ball in another arcing curve. It grazed the side of one the remaining pins on its way by. The pin promptly shot sideways, skipping across the back of the lane and knocking over the final one for a spare.

“Ha!” Becky shot her arms up in triumph. “Not too bad myself, ah?”

Rose chuckled, and raised her hands to give a slow applause. “Impressive, impressive.”

“What can I say? Always been good with my fingers.” She raised her own hand and wiggled her bowling fingers back and forth. “Helps with getting the curve right.”

“Well, don’t go boasting too much. According to this scorecard, I’m still thirty-five points better with my fingers than you are.”

Becky folded her arms and returned a devilish grin. “Oh, we’ll see whose fingers are better in the end, just you wait.”

* * *

Rose munched on her ice cream cone, sucking out a good mouthful of the chocolate peanut butter deliciousness. Sure, she’d already had cake at dinner, but that had been two hours ago, and she needed the calories. Plus, it was fucking amazing ice cream. Leave it to Becky to know the absolute best food joints around Silverstone.

“Alright, and be honest,” said Becky, giving her own ice cream a lick, “was that not the best birthday you’ve ever had?”

“Honestly?” Rose devoured the last bit of her ice cream cone, and wiped her fingers clean on a napkin. She sensed the joking tone in her friend’s voice, but if Becky had any idea what her life had really been like, the question might have been a bit more serious. Even if it wasn’t her real birthday—still one of the better nights of her life. “Yeah, it was.”

Becky blinked in surprise. “Wait, for real? I was only kidding, I swear.”

Rose offered a shrug, as the pair made their way along the sidewalk in downtown Silverstone. Even this late at night, the streets of this district bustled with activity—people getting in some late night shopping, coming home from bars, even a row of street vendors selling everything from magazines to novelty sunglasses. “Wasn’t lying when I said I’ve never made a big deal out of my birthday. Usually just another day for me.”

“For real? Even when you were growing up?”

“Well, I mean maybe I got a cake and a present when I was growing up with my mom,” she said, her memories wandering back to a far simpler time of her mother raising her in the brothel in New York City. A far happier time. “And the girls who worked for her were always nice. But I never went out and did anything special. Then when my mom died, I ended up in my dad’s care, and he’s—well, let’s just say he doesn’t really do cakes and presents.”

“So, you’ve never had a big party with friends?" Becky said, with a dumbfounded stare. “Or gone out and celebrated, nothing like that?”

“Nope.”

“Wow.” Becky gave her ice cream cone an absent lick. “That just doesn’t seem right.”

Rose shrugged. “Maybe, but it’s all I’ve ever known.”

“Guess that makes today all the more special then, ah?”

“Could have done without the singing, or falling on my face three dozen times,” she muttered, trying to hide her growing smirk. “But yeah, I suppose it does.”

Becky leaned in closer with a grin. “So, you really did have a good time?”

“I know, I’m shocked too.”

“In that case, maybe we should do it again?” Becky raised her eyebrows with the question, an almost hopeful glint in her eyes. “You know—go out?”

“Well-” Rose paused, with a thoughtful purse of her lips- “Yeah, actually. I’d like that.”

* * *

Rose opened the door to her penthouse, with Becky following close behind. Most of the lights inside were off, only one soft glow of illumination coming from the living room. Muffled chatter of voices from the television sifted across the apartment.

“Abbie, hey, we’re back,” Becky called out.

A few moments later, a pint-sized girl emerged from around the corner of the kitchen. A few years younger and about a foot shorter than Becky, she sported the same head of curly brown hair and tawny skin, along with a pair of red-rimmed glasses perched atop her nose—Abigail Chavez, Becky’s sister.

“Oh, hey,” Abbie said, giving the pair a wave. “You two have fun?”

“Of course we did!” Becky grinned, holding an arm around Rose. “I was involved, wasn’t I?”

Rose offered a smile. “How’s Holly? She didn’t give you any trouble, did she?”

Abbie laughed at the question, setting a hand on her hips. “Heck no, that kid’s an angel. I’ve babysat a few kids in my day that were nightmares, but Holly—sweetest girl I ever met.”

“Heh, yeah that definitely sounds like her. She sleeping?”

“Like a baby.”

“Alright, great. Here, let me pay you.” Rose pulled out her wallet and took out two fifties. “A little extra too.”

Abbie’s eyes lit up as she snatched the bills and stuffed them into her pocket. “It’s been a pleasure.” She waved, and then headed to the doors to get her shoes. “I should get going now, though. I’ll leave you two girls alone.”

When she was gone, Rose led Becky into the kitchen. “You want anything to drink?”

“Got any beer?” Becky said, as she gave a long look out over the kitchen counter towards the open living room beyond.

“I only just turned twenty-one today, and I’m a cop,” Rose replied, with a mocking squint. “You really think I got beer in the fridge?”

Becky turned back with a cocked eyebrow. “What, you afraid I’m gonna slap my cuffs on you?”

Rose let out a defeated sigh. “Alright, yeah, I got beer.”

Pulling a couple beers out of the fridge, Rose passed one to Becky and made her way into the living room. She let out a deep breath, plopping herself onto the couch. Tired muscles groaned, as she set her feet up on the coffee table. Becky sat next to her, curling her legs up onto the couch.

“So,” Becky said, taking a sip of her beer, “you seriously afford this place on a cop’s salary?”

“Oh, well no-” She took a quick swig of her own beer, forcing the gears in her brain to turn and come up with an excuse- “My uncle, he, uh—well, he helps pay for it.”

Becky stared, curiously. “So you got a rich uncle?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Ha, wow. Never thought I'd actually meet someone with a rich relative. Not that I’m complaining about the set up—this is a damn nice place.”

Rose nodded, gulping down another sip. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Becky put down her beer on the coffee table and shifted her position on the couch, leaning closer. “So, you did have a good time tonight?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?”

“Oh, yeah I know—just checking.” With a gentle clear of her throat, Becky’s hand traveled and came to rest on Rose’s thigh. “I, uh—I had a good time too.”

Rose blinked, looking down at the hand on her thigh. “Uh, Beck, what are you-”

When she looked up, Becky was leaning in even closer. And kept moving in. Almost like she was going in for a… When their lips met together, Rose froze. She sat there for a second, dumbfounded and unable to move. Focus returned to her in a crushing wave. She pulled back, blinking at Becky with her eye open wide.

“Whoa, what—Becky what are you doing?”

Becky blinked back at her, genuine puzzlement creasing across her brow. A second later, she pulled back as well, sitting up straighter on the couch. “I-I mean I was-”

“Hold on.” Rose narrowed a curious look at the other woman. “You’re gay?”

“Yes? I thought you knew I was—wait, you’re not?”

“I’m—I mean I’ve never-” A buzzing started to build in her ears, as she tried to make sense of what was going on. Truthfully, that wasn’t a question she’d ever grappled with—she’d always been attracted to men. Women could be hot, sure, but she’d never been into them like that. At least, as far as she knew. She hadn’t ever given it much thought. “Well, no?”

Becky sprang off the couch, hands grasping at the top of her head. Her eyes widened, horrified. “Oh fuck, you’re serious? Oh my—stupid! I’m  _ stupid!” _ She started pacing around the coffee table, yelling aloud to herself in Spanish. “I’m so sorry, I just thought—I mean, you said you weren’t into men, and, and-”

Rose slowly lowered her beer onto the coffee table and stood up. “I mean, I meant I wasn’t looking to be involved in a relationship right now, and—wait, did I really come off like I liked women?”

“Well, sure, you—I mean, no. I mean, I don’t know!” Becky recoiled, smacking herself in the forehead. “I just mean, I thought we were getting closer, and you liked me, and then there was tonight, and, and-”

“Tonight?” Understanding exploded into her mind. “Wait, was this whole thing supposed to be a date?”

“I thought it was obvious!” Becky threw up her hands, shouting another several phrases in Spanish. She continued her pacing, shaking her head as she went. “I-I mean I thought I was being clear I was trying to-to get closer, and-and I was flirting with you all night for Christ’s sake!”

Rose stared, a blank look descending over her face. Well, holy shit. Had she really not picked up on that? In retrospect, looking back on it now—how in the hell had she missed it?  _ She _ —an absolutely incessant flirt in her own right. “I just—I didn’t realize. I thought you were just being nice.”

“I am so sorry. I’m an idiot.” Becky left the living room, making a beeline for the exit. “Shit, I should go, I should really go. I-I shouldn’t be here right now.”

“Becky, wait, hold on!”

But she didn’t listen. Within seconds, Becky was gone from the penthouse, the door swinging shut behind her. Rose stood there in the living room, staring dumbly across the apartment. If she’d had half a brain, she might have run after Becky, but for the life of her, she couldn’t make her legs move. And even if she did, what in the hell would she say to make this any less awkward? Instead, she fell back to the couch.

“Shit,” she muttered, with a blank stare down at the two beers on the table. “Did that seriously just happen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is indeed very much a fluff chapter to close out this arc. No fighting an action here, just a lot of development given to Rose's relationship with Becky, and seeing it get a bit more complicated. Now, the first time around when I wrote this chapter, I sort of glossed over the whole birthday night and what they did together. This time I wanted to really get into it and describe the scenes in more detail, to really show them getting to know each other better and highlight their chemistry (even if Rose is mostly oblivious to that up until the end). And I think, or at least I hope, I managed to do that. This definitely changes things between them going forward, and expect Rose to start questioning other things about herself as they continue to work together and interact.


	20. Every Rose Has Its Thorns #1: When The Devil Comes Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose talks to Becky about how they left things between them after their night out, while a villain she once failed to stop makes a shocking return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: As I originally wrote this fic 7 years ago, I was not as cognizant of certain implications some story elements might have. Today, I realize how a certain plot point in this chapter might look (skip to the end notes for more details if you don't mind spoilers), but given that the entirety of this story arc is propelled by said event, I can't really alter it much without completely changing the events or removing them altogether, and given the ripple effects that follow, well, the story must go on. Just know that this story does not end in tragedy.

Rose walked into the women’s locker room and looked towards Becky’s locker—no one there. Shit. Alright, so much for getting it out of the way early. Then again, maybe that was for the better. She still hadn’t exactly figured out what to say after last night, an otherwise perfect birthday outing that had taken an unexpected turn at the end. What _could_ she say? Nothing that would make Becky feel better, for sure. Whatever confusion or embarrassment Rose had experienced last night, it had to have been a hundred times worse for her.

Granted, the whole thing had been as much Rose's fault as Becky’s. She had always been an incessant flirt over the years, mostly as a way to get a rise out of people, or have some harmless fun, and yet when someone had come on to her? _Whoosh_. Right over her head. How dumb did she have to be to have missed the signs?

With a heavy sigh, Rose wandered over to her own locker. She passed another woman changing on the way by, who she recognized as one of the night shift officers, and paused. Couldn’t hurt to ask. “Hey, Officer Hawkins, right? Have you seen Becky—uh, Rebecca?”

Officer Hawkins turned with a thoughtful scrunch of her brow. “You mean Officer Chavez?”

“Yeah, her. My partner.”

“Oh, sure, saw her come through about twenty minutes ago.” She thumbed towards the door. “Must have got here pretty early—was already in full uniform by the time I was coming off shift.”

“Right, thanks.” Rose narrowed a stare at the door, before heading to her own locker to change. Alright, so Becky was definitely here, which meant she hadn’t gone and called out sick or something to avoid her. Must have wanted to save herself a few extra minutes of embarrassment before having to coexist in the squad car all day. Couldn’t blame her for that.

Rose changed into uniform in a partial daze, running over the events of the previous night again in her mind, all while trying to figure out what to say. By the time she walked out of the locker room into the station, she’d landed somewhere between ignoring it, or making a joke out of it. No, that wasn’t going to work. Maybe a past version of herself would have brushed it off or ignored it, but she’d grown since then. At least, she liked to think so. Might as well start handling shit like an adult.

A head of curly brown hair caught the corner of Rose’s eye, as she made her way by one of the side offices. She stopped herself a few steps beyond the door and backpedaled, giving a curious glance into the room. Becky sat there at a desk, scribbling across some kind of paperwork. Rose’s gut knotted. Good a time as any.

Giving a nonchalant knock on the open door frame, Rose made her way inside. “Hey.”

Becky jumped, dropping the pen on the desk. “Oh! Uh, Sarah. Hey.”

“Got here pretty early, huh?”

“Yeah, I-” She paused, and shifted awkwardly in her seat- “Just wanted to take care of a few things. No big deal.”

And then the silence. Long, drawn out—about as uncomfortable as possible, as they both gave each other quick glances, only to look away and clear their throats. Becky picked up the pen and resumed her writing.

“So…” Rose muttered, folding her arms across her chest. “Are we going to talk about what happened last night? You kinda ran out in a hurry.”

 _“_ _¡_ _Ay Dios!”_ Becky dropped the pen again and buried her face into her hands, followed by another muttered phrase of Spanish. “Can you blame me? I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life! I-I _kissed_ you for Christ’s sake.”

Rose cleared her throat. “Well, yeah I—I mean, I won’t pretend that wasn’t a bit of a surprise.”

Another awkward pause. Becky fidgeted in her seat, and resumed filling out her paperwork. She didn’t say anything else.

Rose took a few steps closer to the desk. “What are you working on there?”

“Oh, this?” Becky tapped her pen against the paper, leaving a series of stray dots on the white sheet. “Just a, uh—well, it’s a transfer request. Figured I should probably head to a different precinct, make things easier for the both of us, you know?”

A knot lifted into Rose’s throat. “Transfer? What—why?”

“You’re joking right? After what happened last night, I can’t—with you—I mean we shouldn’t—”

“Whoa, hold on.” Rose grabbed another chair in the office and slid it forward. She took a seat next to her partner. “Look, I get you’re embarrassed, but that’s a bit of an extreme reaction, don’t you think? You can’t just go and leave the whole precinct over something like that.”

“And why not?” Becky slapped the pen down on the desk and turned a stern look. “You really want to be stuck in the same car with me eight hours a day after that? With another woman who ‘likes’ you?”

“Believe it or not, I actually like being your partner. And I like you too—just, I mean, not in the same way, I guess. What I mean is—okay, look.” Rose took a deep breath and pressed her fingers against her forehead. Starting to get a headache just trying to come up with the right words. “Friends aren’t exactly something I have a lot of. Actually, I barely have any, if I’m being honest. I don’t want to lose the best one I have over something like this.”

Becky gave a long stare, slowly shifting straighter in her seat. After a long moment’s pause, she squinted curiously and said, “You’re serious?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just—” She paused again, looking away with a shake of her head, as though she couldn’t believe what Rose was telling her. “You’d still want to be my partner? Even after I went and came on to you like that?”

Rose nodded. “Wouldn’t want anyone else.”

“Even though I’m…?”

“What, a lesbian?” Rose snorted a chuckle. “You really think I’m that awful?”

“I—no, of course not! It’s just—” Becky leaned back over her chair and planted her palms against her forehead, uttering a deep, frustrated sigh. “I mean, I haven’t exactly ‘come out’ yet. And you’d think these days that wouldn’t be as big a thing, but my parents—they’re really religious, you know? Really, _really_ don’t support that kind of thing. Makes finding a relationship difficult, especially when they live so close to the city. Always dropping by, always wanting to know what’s going on in my life, always asking when I’m going to find a man. My sister’s fine—she’s the only one who knows, and she supports me, but I’ve never been able to tell my parents. So I’ve just always kept it to myself. But then I was so sure you were too, and then—then you weren’t. I guess I panicked.” She chuckled, letting her arms fall to her sides. “Guess I misjudged that one, ah?”

“Hey, everyone makes mistakes,” Rose said, with a shrug. “Even me. Well, especially me. Let’s be honest, I don’t know how the fuck I missed all the flirting.”

Becky’s chuckle morphed into delighted snickering. “It _was_ pretty obvious, wasn’t it? Hell, I was talking about how good I am with my fingers.”

“Yep, that’s on me. See? I’m just as guilty.”

“Suppose that makes it a bit better, ah?” Becky folded her arms and gave a deep sigh. “But you’re sure you’re okay with this? I mean, you’re not just saying it to make me feel better? I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable around me.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll be fine,” she assured, with a subtle grin. “Besides, so what if my partner has a crush on me? Just means I have options, right?”

Becky puffed out a disbelieving chuckle, and ran her fingers back through her hair. “You are a very strange person, Sarah. And that’s what I love about you.”

“You don’t know the half of it.” Still smirking, Rose stood up and head for the door. “Now come on, let’s get on patrol already.”

Becky looked back at the transfer request form. With a single nod, she crumpled the sheet into a ball and tossed it into the trash bin _. “Sí,_ let’s go.”

* * *

Rose leaned against the open passenger window, elbow hanging outside, and took a deep breath of fresh air. With a look back at her partner, she said, “So, just out of curiosity, how long have you known? That you didn’t like men, I mean.”

Becky paused a moment, thinking. “I think I’ve always known, in a way. Had a few boyfriends in high school, but nothing ever clicked. Didn’t feel right, if that makes sense.”

“I suppose I can see that, yeah.”

“But, if you’re asking when I first really discovered myself-” Becky shifted behind the steering wheel with a low chuckle- “Was about a month after I graduated. Got a job working at one of the local gyms, nothing special. But one of the other girls who worked there took a liking to me, started flirting. Didn’t even realize it at first, but I started flirting back. Was just having fun, you know?”

Rose smirked with a soft chuckle of her own. “Oh yeah. Now that I get.”

“Anyway, one day, after we’d closed, she made a move on me when we were cleaning the locker rooms. And I, uh—well, let’s just say I didn’t want to stop her, ah?”

“Hmm, steamy.”

“You’re telling me.” A wide grin crawled over Becky’s face. “The first time she kissed me, everything just sort of fell into place.”

“So, whatever happened to her?”

“Oh, we were a thing for a while, but it didn’t last. Just like with any other couple, you got your differences and all that. Just weren’t right for each other.”

Rose pursed her lips with a thoughtful hum. Not that she’d know anything about that. As much as she had enjoyed flirting in her life, she’d never had a boyfriend. Or even been on a date for that matter. The only person she might have ever considered dating was long gone. She gave a long, wistful sigh as she went back to looking out her window. How different might things have been if Eddie had left with her? If he hadn’t stayed behind with the Titans and gotten himself killed?

“Frank’s is coming up,” said Becky, as she rounded the squad car onto the next street. “Want anything?”

Leaning her head out the window, Rose took a deep breath through her nose. Sure enough, the delightful scent of the best damn hot dog stand in the city wafted into her senses. “Little early for lunch, but you know I’m not passing that up. Grab me the usual.”

“You got it.” 

Becky slowed the car to a stop, parking at the side of the street and getting out into line at Frank’s Hot Dog Cart. Rose relaxed in her seat, while scrolling through news articles on her phone. Nothing major happening in Silverstone lately, from the look of things. At least, certainly nothing as breaking as the capture of Deadshot and the arrest of three crime bosses last week. Maybe a chance for the Blade to take a bit of a break for a few days and catch up on some sleep.

A black car drove up and parked behind her. Rose glanced into the rear view mirror and narrowed a look. The driver, his eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses, had stopped to take a look at his own phone. After thirty seconds of this, Rose looked back to her news headlines. No point in staring at someone checking his text messages. A few moments later, the car pulled out again and slowly drove past the police cruiser.

A white flash of precog burned through her skull. Rose dropped her phone, snapping a look towards the hot dog stand. Becky had just turned around, holding a hot dog in both hands. Oblivious, not a worry in the world. No way to have seen what Rose had just seen.

“Rebecca!” she yelled, already scrambling out of the cop car. “Get down!”

Becky blinked in confusion. She managed one more step before the gunshot went off. A single dot of crimson burst in her abdomen, and she collapsed, in the same instant as the black car peeled out down the street. Bystanders screamed and scattered. Becky hit the sidewalk with a gasping cry of pain, hands clutching at the bullet wound in her stomach. Crimson leaked out between her fingers, and from the corners of her mouth.

“NO!” Rose made it to her partner in three strides, immediately dropping to her knees. “Becky! Becky, can you hear me? How bad is it?”

Becky coughed, muttering a string of frantic words in Spanish. Looking to Rose, she choked out, “Oy, it’s a gunshot! So—so, pretty fucking bad, ah? Oh fuck—oh that _really_ hurts.”

As Becky’s head dropped to the pavement and her breathing quickened, Rose clicked on her shoulder radio. “Dispatch, officer down! I repeat, we have an officer down! We need an ambulance at 1756 Timber Street! Now!”

Releasing the mic, Rose reached out to grasp one of Becky’s hands. Becky tightened her grip in response, but that grip soon slackened. She coughed again, this time spraying red flecks into the air. The one cough turned to fits, and with a guttural groan of pain, her eyes rolled shut.

“Becky?” A sickening bubble of panic and nausea climbed into Rose’s throat. “Becky, hold on!”

* * *

Twelve hours later, Rose paced back and forth in a dark, quiet hallway in Silverstone General Hospital. Aside from leaving to pick up Holly from school, she’d been in this same spot all day. Pacing. Worrying. Hoping. Becky had been taken into emergency surgery immediately upon arrival, and was still in there. Not a single doctor or nurse would give her any concrete updates,though—not how serious the injury was, not what Becky’s chances were, and not how the surgery was going. As if they enjoyed watching her pace around with her gut twisted in knots.

Rose stopped her pacing to lean against the wall with a deep breath. Several deep breaths—slow, steady, anything to calm herself. Next to her, Holly lay on a bench, curled up and fast asleep. Poor girl had stayed up as long as she could, but it was well past midnight now. By the grace of whatever higher powers there were, Rose would hopefully be able to tell her good news when she woke up.

When she’d steadied the churning in her gut, Rose pushed away from the wall and resumed her pacing. Fuck, when was the last time she’d felt like this about anything? This worried—this _stressed_ —over someone else’s well-being. Rescuing Holly came damn close, for sure, but she hadn’t even known Holly then. Failing there would have sucked, but it would have been just another failure, and she’d been through plenty of those before. But if Becky died?

Fuck. She’d really never had a friend like this before. Never had to wonder what it might be like to lose someone she actually gave a damn about. Not since Eddie. Not since her mom. But even then, they’d been sudden—her mom killed while saving her life, and Eddie dying when she wasn’t even around. She’d never had to pace around a hospital for twelve hours wondering if finding religion and praying might actually make a difference. This kind of torment was a whole different beast. 

And that beast could go fuck itself. Whoever had shot Becky, whoever had hurt her like this—she’d find him, and she’d kill him. No matter who he was, he was a fucking dead man.

“Officer Walker?”

Rose spun on her heels to see a male doctor with a clipboard standing behind her. “Oh, yeah—that’s me. What is it? How’s Becky?”

“Just came out of surgery,” the doctor stated. “She’s in stable condition right now, but her condition is still critical.”

“Critical—how?”

The doctor exhaled deeply, shifting the clipboard under his arm. “The bullet was angled upward when it struck her. Even though it hit her abdomen, it traveled into her rib cage, causing extensive damage to her stomach, spleen, and even tearing a lung. Fortunately, the bullet missed her spine, but only by centimeters. It’s honestly a miracle she was still alive when she got to us.”

Rose swallowed the growing knot in her throat. “But she’ll recover, right? You’ll keep her alive.”

“We’ve repaired the damage the best we can, but the rest is up to her, I’m afraid. The next few days will be crucial in telling us how well she'll recover, if at all.”

If. _If_ she recovers. The knot choked a cough out of her, but she stifled it and gave the doctor a nod. “Can I see her?”

“She’s not awake,” the doctor said, giving a look down the hallway, “but you can go in briefly, if you like. Her room is around the corner, third door down on the left. No more than five minutes.”

“Thanks.”

Rose gave one look towards Holly to be sure the girl was still fast asleep, before wandering down the hall into the recovery room. The first thing she noticed was the steady, rhythmic beeping of a heart monitor. The sound stopped her in her tracks, standing frozen in the doorway. The room was dark, save for the dim glow from medical panels and monitors, leaving Becky as a dark silhouette in her bed. Even in that silhouette, Rose could see the plastic tube down her throat, helping her breathe. Could hear the sound of oxygen being pumped. Could make out all the wires hooked up to her. The IV drip. Even the weird plastic thing clipped onto one of her fingers. Whatever the hell it was.

The sight made her stomach coil and somersault. This was how Becky had felt when Rose was the one in that bed, wasn’t it? Sick, terrified, like the entire world was being ripped out beneath her. Yeah. Maybe now she was starting to understand.

Rose lowered herself into the chair next to the hospital bed, and without a second thought reached out to hold Becky’s hand. “I’m sorry, Beck. I could have—I saw it happen, but—fuck, I should have been _faster_. Done something. Instead of just shouting and watching you get shot…”

Her throat knotted again. Sinking back in her seat, she pressed a hand against her face and breathed deep, half-sniffling back the tears fighting so hard to break free. “Just get better, alright? Please. I—I don’t want to lose you, either.”

When her five minutes were up, Rose forced her way out of her seat and ambled into the hallway again, her hands stuffed into the pockets of her police uniform. There never had been time to change. Would probably have to stop by the station on the way home, in that case. With any luck, Holly would stay sleeping. 

When she rounded the corner of the hallway, she froze. No. No, that wasn’t right. She wiped at her wet eyes, clearing them away. She was seeing things. _Had_ to be seeing things. But when she blinked her vision clear again, the stone in her stomach sank deeper. Not seeing things at all. A figure sat there on the bench next to a still-sleeping Holly. A man, one leg casually crossed over the other. A man wearing a dark bowler hat and overcoat, and a pair of wire-rimmed around his eyes. He smiled at her when he saw her, and reached up to push his glasses further up on his nose.

Rose's voice squealed out in a hoarse yell. _“You!"_

“Shh, keep your voice down, Rose.” Jerry brought a finger to his lips, as though to mock her with the emphasis. With his other hand, he gently stroked Holly’s hair. “We wouldn’t want to wake her, now would we?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the aforementioned event in the disclaimer is Becky being shot/harmed almost immediately after we learn she's gay. Important note: she does not die here, nor did I target this character because of her sexuality. She is targeted by the villain solely because of her relation to Rose, as comic villains are wont to do (targeting a hero's friends and loved ones). And it is the threat of her safety that forces Rose into the position she finds herself in throughout this story arc. Unfortunately, when originally conceiving this story, I did not take that into consideration, so when viewed through a critical lens it could be seen as insensitive, and for that I'm sorry.
> 
> As a note for any future events that take place in this story, anything that I put any of these characters through is because I believe it will make the most impactful story, not because I am trying to do unfair harm to diverse characters. Also, keeping in mind this is based in a comic universe, where things like death are a revolving door, know that I am not about writing sad or tragic endings (even if sad or tragic things might happen along the way). Regardless of how we get there, all these characters will end the fic in a good place (the good guys, anyway. Villains? Well, look at Pavoni and you be the judge).


	21. Every Rose Has Its Thorns #2: The Professor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager is forced to work for a man she hates, under threat to the people closest to her.

Rose drew her gun from its holster in half a breath. She pointed it square at Jerry’s face, clicking off the safety in the same motion. Just as fast, Jerry flicked his wrist, causing a switchblade to spring out from beneath the sleeve of his coat. He pressed the blade next to Holly's throat, and with his other hand waved a mocking, taunting finger at her.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he said, with a grin. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Her aim trembled. She held her gun for a moment longer before slowly lowering it back into the holster and clicking the safety on. Fucking _bastard_. “Hiding behind a child—real classy.”

He gave a subtle shrug, but kept the knife hovering dangerously close to Holly’s neck. “Simple insurance. I’m sure you understand.”

“What the _hell_ are you doing here?” she said, spitting venom into her tone.

“Why, I merely wanted a nice chat.”

“Cut the bullshit. I’m exhausted, stressed, and you have a knife to a kid’s throat. What do you _want?”_

A worm-like grin crawled across his face. “I'm here to talk about you. See, your nightly adventures playing vigilante has made it quite difficult to progress a foothold in this city. Before you came along, oh it was easy—you saw for yourself what I’d done. But now? Well, I’m afraid it isn’t the same.”

Rose scowled. “Gee, sorry to go and ruin your fun. You want me to buy you an ice cream, make you feel better?”

“Ah, there’s that sarcasm,” he said, with a soft chuckle. “Now, as you might assume, I cannot allow you to continue running around at night unchecked and causing trouble. It is simply far too much of a risk for what I’m planning.”

“So this is your big plan to stop me? Threaten Holly and tell me to back off?” Her fingers twitched near her gun. “Soon as you get up to leave, I put a bullet in you.”

“Yes, that would be problematic, wouldn’t it?” He pressed a finger to his lips and glanced upwards, as though deep in thought. The mocking asshole. “I suppose I could take her with me, but kidnapping isn’t my forte. I’m not Pavoni, after all—I have standards. But there are other ways to make you do what I want. Other people to go after.” His gaze shifted down the hall. “As you’ve already seen.”

Ice snapped through Rose’s fingertips, spreading into the rest of her body with a nauseous shudder. “You—You’re the one who put Becky in here. _You_ did this to her!”

“Well, not me personally, but I did orchestrate it. Was meant to show you I was serious—honestly, I’m amazed she survived, although it should make motivating you easier.”

“You son of a bitch.” Rose curled fists at her side, arms trembling with a building rage she fought her damnedest to hold back. “You’re a _dead_ man.”

Jerry straightened his posture with a stern clear of his throat. “Rose, there is something you need to understand. I have eyes and ears everywhere in this city. Take this hospital, for instance. I have people working for me here, as well, and they’re quite good at doing what I tell them to. For example—should anything happen to me, they have specific instructions to pull the plug on your poor girlfriend there. And what a shame that would be.”

Rose flinched. No, that couldn’t be right. People working for this sleazeball all over the city? Doctors and nurses at the hospital in his pocket? Bluffing. He _had_ to be bluffing. Numbness tingled into her throat, clinging like a bad aftertaste as it brought her jaw into a quiver. Just like she’d been so sure those thug bank robbers were bluffing about their bombs? She’d tried to call that bluff too. And got innocent people killed. Got Kid Flash put in the hospital. Nearly destroyed the Titans’ image in San Francisco. 

Not again.

“So what, you want me to stop?” she said, swallowing to stay the trembling in her jaw. “Fine. I’m done. Just leave the people I care about the _hell_ alone.”

Jerry lifted his brow. “My, that was quick. But no, I’m afraid that’s not what I want, either. You see, I wouldn’t have you stop doing what you do—you are quite good at it, after all. Rather, I would have your activities overseen.”

Rose narrowed a glare. “The hell are you talking about?”

“You’ll be working for me, now," he stated, matter-of-factly. “Whenever you’d normally suit up for your nightly escapades, you’ll report to me and follow my instructions instead. If you have any ideas to the contrary, your cop friend dies. Then I move on to dear Holly here. Everyone you care for—gone. Same holds true if you should think about telling any of those hero friends of yours.”

The numbness crept back. Rose swallowed again, drifting her gaze towards the floor. This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be fucking happening.

“Thinking things through? Please, take your time.” Jerry removed the knife from Holly’s throat and lowered his crossed leg. Shifting his weight, he raised his other leg now to cross that one instead. “I don’t have anywhere else I need to be tonight, and I’m sure this is a difficult decision. On the one hand, you could shoot me now. Of course, that would lead to the death of your partner, as well as this girl. You’d stop me, yes, but at what cost? Or, you could simply listen to me, and everyone lives. Your move.”

“Okay.” Her voice came out in a horse, squeak of a whisper.

Jerry raised a brow. “What’s that? Couldn’t quite hear you.”

“I said _fine_ , asshole! I’ll work for you.”

“Really now, that’s no way to talk to your employer.” Jerry stood, and straightened out his overcoat with a sigh. “I suppose we’ll have to work on that.”

Rose stood rooted to the floor, her entire body quaking with rage. Fists shuddered at her sides. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

“For now, take dear Holly here back home and get some rest,” he said, gesturing to the sleeping girl. “Go to work in the morning like normal, all that good stuff. Tomorrow night, nine o’clock, come to the old toy factory in West End. Be sure to dress for the occasion.” On that note, Jerry pushed his glasses back up his nose and tipped his bowler hat at her. Turning around, he marched down the hallway and disappeared beyond the corner. 

* * *

The next day, Rose slumped against a chair at Becky’s beside. She held her head in her hand, staring a blank, bleary gaze out the window. Her lunch sat in a cooler next to the chair, untouched. The way her gut churned right now, she’d probably throw up if she tried to eat it. A tremble shuddered through her jaw, and she clenched her teeth to steady it. That only made her eye water. With a frustrated grumble, she wiped it dry.

“You know, the day—been pretty boring so far,” she said, with a long look at her sleeping partner. The sound of beeping machines answered her, along with the steady pump of oxygen through her tube. “I mean, I finally get the drive the cruiser, but there’s no one to talk to. Day just kinda drags without you, you know?” She paused, and another round of beeping filled the silence. “Everyone’s pulling for you down at the station. They already bought you your cake and everything—vanilla, your favorite. Because you’re gonna pull through, right? Of course you will.”

Rose sighed. Stupid, sitting here trying to talk to her like this. Wasn’t like Becky could actually hear anything. Might as well be talking to a wall. So why did calm her? “I just wanted to say—I might have to do some things. Things you probably wouldn’t be happy about. I don’t know what yet, but it won’t be good. But I’m doing it to protect you. You and Holly. As long as you guys are safe, then I’m doing the right thing. Right?”

At least, that’s what she kept telling herself. As long as she wanted the people who mattered most to her to stay alive, she had to go along with whatever Jeremiah wanted from her. No way around it—the bastard had her on a leash. Only question was, what would he have her do? And how far would she let herself go to keep them safe? She’d done a lot of questionable shit before to help people—part of her own brand of heroism—but never at the beck and call of some other murderous asshole.

Only thing now was to prepare. Maybe Jerry would slip up. Maybe he’d give her an opening, a way to stop him and still save Becky and Holly. He had to have some kind of weakness—these scumbags always did. She just needed some time to feel him out, think things through. She’d find a way to stop him.

Somehow.

With a shaky breath, Rose stood up from her seat and gave one more long look at Becky’s motionless form. “I should probably get back out on patrol now. Already been here too long as it is. But I’ll be back again tomorrow—count on it. Just keep fighting, Beck, you hear?”

* * *

Ravager slowed her bike to a stop outside the front gate of the old factory. She gave the place a long glare, as she killed the engine and removed her helmet. Odd place for a meetup, but since when were villains ever not unnecessarily cryptic? With a frown, she got off her motorcycle and wandered towards the rusted iron fence wrapped in chains.

“The hell are you, Jerry?” she muttered, squinting for a better look at the looming silhouette of the factory beyond the gate.

As if on cue, the upbeat jingle of a phone sounded into the night. Her frown deepened, and with a look towards the chains on the fence she noticed the glow of a phone tucked there waiting for her. Going along with the stupidly cheery, teenage girl ringtone, the phone was stuffed in a gaudy pink case glittering with sparkles and flowers. She glowered at the thing for a good few moments before walking over to answer it. According to the caller ID, “J” was calling.

“Cute,” she grumbled into the phone. “Real cute.”

“Ah, you’re on time,” came Jerry’s voice from the other end. “Good. I do enjoy it when my workers are punctual.”

“Just get on with it. What am I doing?”

“Have you ever heard of S.T.A.R. Labs?”

She furrowed her brow in thought. “The research company?”

“That’s the one.”

“Okay, what about it?”

“Well, it just so happens they have a facility located right here in Silverstone,” he explained, with an irritatingly chipper tone. “And as luck would have it, this particular facility also contains something of great value to me. I want you to acquire it.”

“So, you want me to steal you something from S.T.A.R. Labs?”

“Indeed. Will that be a problem?”

Ravager sighed, rubbing a hand over the top of her masked forehead. “Just tell me what it is.”

“What I’m looking for is contained in Storage Vault C, under the file name C-67. The code to open the vault is 8356.”

“Uh huh. And you know this how?”

“Eyes everywhere, remember?” The reminding mockery in his tone made her want to jump through the phone and strangle him. “Just need someone to go and get it for me. But do be careful—I hear security is rather tight around S.T.A.R. Labs these days.”

“Right… I’ll try to keep that in mind.”

“When you’re done, use this phone to give me a call back. I’ll tell you where to meet me. And remember, Rose-” Jerry’s tone darkened, carrying a sinister weight- “If you should fail, Rebecca dies.”

* * *

At times like this, Ravager wished she specialized a bit more in the art of stealth. She might be able to do alright at remaining unseen from a few thugs when she had to, but when it came to infiltrating a highly guarded technology lab? Well, she wasn’t Batman. Avoiding cameras and motion sensors wasn't exactly something she practiced—as the now blaring horn and flashing red lights of the S.T.A.R. Labs facility could attest.

Oh, and the swarm of security guards. Yeah, they made life a bit annoying right now. A few teams of guards had already tried their luck in stopping her—poor bastards didn’t last a minute. Ravager wasn’t screwing around right now. She had a mission to accomplish, and she wasn’t about to fail. The sooner she got this done, the sooner she made Jerry happy and kept Becky safe. At least for one more day.

Turning the corner of a wide corridor lined with thick metal doors, she came face to face with another three guards running her way. They all slid to a stop, one of them raising a weapon that looked worryingly similar to a bazooka. A glowing projectile shot out of the barrel and expanded into the form of a large energy net. Ravager leaped sideways and kicked off the wall, flipping herself into the air over the net. The guards below shouted in surprise. Before they could adjust themselves to the now aerial attack, she landed on the shoulders of the guard with the energy bazooka and cracked an elbow atop his skull. The man crumpled with a grunt of pain. The other two pulled out crackling stun batons and swiped at her, but with a quick sidestep and push of their arms, they jabbed each other square in the chest. With a sizzling burst of electricity, they collapsed drooling onto the floor.

As soon as the guards were down, Ravager continued her mad dash down the corridor. Storage Vault C, Storage Vault C—come on, where was it? Coming around another corner, she fumbled to a stop as she nearly ran into a dead end, blocked but a set of large metal doors surrounded by a yellow and black striped frame. A large red C was painted across the center.

Jackpot!

She darted to the access panel next to the doors. Her fingers fumbled, frantic to punch in the correct code. She managed to fuck up the sequence twice, each time punctuated by a loud buzzer of failure, before finally hitting the correct numbers. The panel chimed, and the doors slid open with a mechanical whirring.

“Override recognized,” said a computerized voice from the panel. “Security disabled.”

Ravager rushed inside as soon as the doors were wide enough to fit through. A long, concrete-walled chamber lay beyond, lined with several rows of storage containers, each marked with a different label. Row A, Row B—there, Row C! She sprinted down the aisle until she reached the sixty-seventh container—marked C-67. The large metal drawer pulled open with little effort, revealing a small metal cylinder inside, no bigger than a ruler. 

Huh. A lot of work for something so small.

“She’s in the vault!” called a voice from the entrance. “Spread out and find her!”

Ravager grabbed the top of the container and pulled herself up a few inches, enough so she could peer over them. Another team of security guards had reached the vault, now moving inside to spread out through the different rows. Each one of them carried what looked like a gun with a pair of metal prongs, between which an arc of electricity crackled, like miniature lightning bolts. Mental note—don’t get hit by that.

Grabbing the metal cylinder, Ravager ducked towards the back of the vault, around the side of an empty row of containers. She hid behind some kind of large drilling device equipped with lasers and computer screens, and crouched in waiting. Sure enough, one of the guards patrolled into view not long after. Just a little closer now. Almost there…

The instant he stepped in range, Ravager sprang out with a sweeping kick to the head. He dropped into a crumpled heap, the metal pronged weapon scattering from his hands. With the commotion, voices called out and began working towards her. All the easier to take them out. Tucking the cylinder in one hand, she grabbed the dropped weapon with her other and sprinted towards the front of the vault. A second guard appeared around the corner. As soon as he came into view, she raised the weapon and fired.

An arc of lightning sizzled out from the prongs through the air, striking the man square in the chest. A puffing gasp of surprise burst from his mouth. Half a second later, he tumbled to the floor, muscles already twitching into spasms. Nothing too severe—judging from what she’d seen from her precog a few seconds ago, these weapons were merely high powered stun guns, despite how frightening they appeared.

Ravager continued her sprint towards the vault door. A third guard caught up to her, but she put him down with another shot of energy from her weapon. Not sticking around to see how many other guards were coming for her, she raced back into the corridor. Now, where was that exit?

* * *

Ravager glanced back and forth at the two goons. They were almost identical, aside from facial features—both tall, broad, and overly muscled in a way no normal human being should be, practically bursting out of their suit jackets. Neither had said a thing, since she arrived, either. Just pointed for her to follow and led the way. Through an abandoned building, down a hidden set of stairs, and into an all too familiar underground facility. Granted, the first time she was here she’d been strapped naked to a table about to be experimented on. And the second time, when she'd come back to investigate, the place had been cleaned out and abandoned. Evidently, they'd moved back in.

The goons brought her down the long corridor of white painted walls to a set of double doors. They stepped aside, and in unison gestured for her to go through. Well, if they insisted. As she approached, the doors whooshed open automatically, revealing some kind of medical laboratory within, filled with twisted looking machines she had no hope of identifying. One of them featured a slanted table with metal bindings, and a set of long, overly sized needles hooked up to mechanical arms poised above it. A shiver rippled down her spine, and she looked away from the machine.

Jerry stood near the center of the room, dressed in a plain dark business suit. He grinned at her, his eyes gleaming behind his wire rim glasses. “Ah, I was wondering when you'd arrive.”

“Yeah, traffic on the way here was killer,” she muttered, tossing the metal cylinder at him. “Where’s your whatever.”

He caught the cylinder with a single hand, and held it up for close examination. “Excellent. This will do nicely.”

“Doesn’t look so special to me. Actually, looks kinda like something you’d find in an adult toy store. Were you that embarrassed to buy yourself a dildo?”

Jerry ignored the question, merely waving her off as he turned around and set down the cylinder on a table. “That will be all for tonight. I’ll call you again tomorrow for your next assignment.

“Great,” she said, with a hidden roll of her eye behind her mask. “I’m outta here.”

As she went to leave, however, the doors slid open in front of her to reveal another figure—a man, bald with an unkempt grey beard and round, reflective, yellow-tinted glasses. He wore a white lab coat over a clean pressed suit and tie beneath. The man paused as he entered the room, giving Ravager a curious glance on the way by before switching his attention to Jeremiah.

“I take it the sample is ready?” the man asked, in a deep, eerily calm voice.

“Ah, yes, you’re just in time.” Jerry turned back from the table and raised a finger. “Rose, before you go, I’d like to introduce you to a dear friend of mine—Professor Hugo Strange.”

The man turned his attention to her. “Miss Wilson, I presume?”

Ravager blinked at him, maintaining her composure for a brief few seconds before bursting with a loud, boisterous guffaw. She brought a hand up to cover her mouth, snickering in amusement. “No way, for real? Your name is Professor _Strange?_ Why not go with something less subtle, like Dr. Evil?”

Strange raised an eyebrow but said nothing, hands held calmly behind his back.

“Or if that’s your real name, then wow, you never had a chance, did you?” She stifled her laughter, reaching a gloved hand beneath her mask so she could wipe the tears from her eye. “Thanks, really. I needed a good laugh today.”

“Sarcasm,” he stated, his voice remaining deep and monotone. “Interesting. If you’re attempting to get a rise out of me, then I’m afraid I must disappoint you.”

“Oh, well shit, now you’ve gone and ruined my day,” she said, with another waning chuckle.

Strange hummed quietly under his breath, his brow lowering over his yellow-tinted glasses. “Such behavior suggests a mask of your own insecurities, requiring the use of put-downs in order to make yourself feel better.”

Her laughter ceased with a low grumble, as she glared back at the man. “Who are you calling insecure?”

“Sarcasm is common in individuals with poor self-esteem,” he continued. “By bringing down others, you attempt to make yourself appear more intelligent than you actually are—trying to raise your social standing, so to speak. You think it makes yourself sound clever, but in truth it is the lowest form of wit. You succeed only in making yourself appear a fool.”

Ravager reached over her shoulder, grasping the hilt of one of her swords. “You wanna run that by me again, chrome dome?”

“I believe I made my point the first time. However-” He raised a hand to his chin, stroking his fingers through his beard as he studied her- “I should take this opportunity to comment on your choice in wardrobe.”

“Excuse me?” 

“I know a good deal about you, from my own research and from what information Jeremiah has shared with me,” he stated, with a matter-of-fact nod. "From what I’ve gathered—in spite of distancing yourself from your father and making it a point to let others know exactly how much you despise the man, you continue to dress in his style, and colors.”

“The fuck does it matter how I dress?” She looked down at herself, noting the armored suit of her Ravager costume. While clearly updated and sleeker than her old costume, it did still carry the same distinct “Deathstroke-y” vibe, but so what? “It’s just a costume.”

“Perhaps.” Strange pursed his lips, leaning closer to better examine the outfit. “However, it might also indicate a subconscious desire to live up to your father’s expectations, in turn suggesting a deep-seated love for the man.”

A hot jolt flashed through her chest at the comment. Lashing out a hand, she grabbed the stupid professor by the collar of his lab coat and yanked him forward. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”

“Ah, have I struck a nerve?” A wicked, satisfied grin slashed across Hugo Strange’s face. “Yes, I see. Possible Electra Complex.”

“Why you little—!”

“Rose, that’s quite enough,” Jerry said, moving next to her a glare. “Release Professor Strange at once.”

Ravager scowled at him with clenched teeth. Smug son of a bitch. She let go of the professor with a forceful shove, pushing him back into a medical cabinet. He struck it with a loud clatter, but swiftly righted himself and straightened out his lab coat.

“I’m out of here,” she muttered, whirling turning around to find the door.

Jerry called after her, “Just remember—”

“I _know!”_ The doors opened in front of her, and she raised a fist, flipping both men a stern middle finger. “ I got the fucking phone!”

* * *

As the doors closed, Strange cleared his throat. “And a short temper, it seems.”

Jerry narrowed a glare at the closed doors. A troublesome one, that woman—he’d have to keep her on a tight leash, lest she ruin what he had planned. “Don’t worry about her. She’s just having some trouble adjusting to her new position, is all.”

“Not worried at all. In fact, I greatly look forward to analyzing her in the coming days. Should prove entertaining, if nothing else.”

With a low breath of acknowledgement, Jerry looked back at his partner. “I can imagine. You’ve spent so much of your time obsessing over Batman, this breath of fresh air must feel good.”

“Quite,” Strange said, with a nod. “I suppose it was inevitable, though. The Batman currently in Gotham is not the original—the one I obsessed over, as you put it. Quite simply, it’s not the same. Again, I must thank you for this opportunity to put my mind to work.”

“Always happy to help out an old friend.” Making his way back to the table in the center of the lab, Jerry waved his partner along. “Now, shall I show you the samples?”

“Yes, please.”

Jerry twisted open the metal cylinder, exposing what had been a near invisible seam near the top. The container sprang apart with a hiss of cold air, allowing him to remove the center tray. A dozen vials sat in evenly spaced slots along the tray, each one containing small globs of what looked like brown putty.

Strange leaned in close. “Interesting.”

“Will it be enough to work with?”

“Oh yes, this should be plenty. However, I will need a few more materials to complete the process.”

Jerry grinned. “And I know just the person to acquire them for us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jeremiah up to his old tricks. Or general bastardry. Here we get to see exactly the ramifications of Rose having a life with people she cares about, while trying to co exist with her vigilante escapades. She really hasn't had to handle anything like this before, having people close to her threatened by a villain who knows her identity, and this will certainly affect how she views her hero work in the future. For now, she's merely concentrated on keeping both Becky and Holly safe, while trying to figure out a way out of this situation. But what kind of damage will be done by then?


	22. Every Rose Has Its Thorns #3: With Friends Like These

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose gets a much needed visit from Cassandra, who reminds her why they're still friends. Meanwhile, Jeremiah gives her a new job.

Rose slumped into the sitting room couch the next morning, a mug of coffee in her hands. Deep, sharp throbs pulsed through her skull. Damn stress and lack of sleep were catching up to her. Could barely lay down for a couple hours at a time without waking up again in a panic, worried over Becky. And furious at Jeremiah. Already he’d had her steal for him, and hurt a bunch of innocent security guards just doing their jobs in the process. Couldn’t wait to know what the hell he’d have her do next.

Sipping at her coffee, she raised the remote to turn on the television. At least today was Saturday, which meant she could relax a while before having to worry about that later tonight. The instant the TV clicked on, she choked on her mouthful of coffee, nearly spitting it out. The morning news greeted her, complete with a breaking story. The scrolling headline at the bottom read:  _ The Blade – Friend or Foe? _

“According to the lab’s security staff on duty last night,” said the reporter, standing outside the S.T.A.R. Labs facility, “the culprit was in fact ‘The Blade’, the mysterious vigilante who has been been sighted patrolling the streets of Silverstone City for the better part of the past year. Witnesses describe the woman as fast, dangerous, and abnormally strong, quite possibly what is called a ‘metahuman’, or a person with some kind of genetically heightened abilities.”

Rose's throat went numb. Motherfucker. Shouldn’t be surprising, and yet here she was staring like an idiot at the woman talking on screen. As if working for Jerry wasn’t bad enough on its own—had to go and destroy any semblance of a reputation she had around the city too.

“This break-in raises several questions,” continued the reporter. “Although acting outside of the law, The Blade has been known for stopping criminal activity, rather than committing it. So why has she suddenly turned into a common thief? What are her motives? And what exactly did she take from S.T.A.R. Labs? I asked the staff here at the facility that very question, but they refused to divulge any details. Should any new information come to light, you’ll see it here first. This has been Jane Valdera of SCTV with another breaking news bulletin.”

Rose took another swig of coffee and set the mug down on the table. “Fuck. Fuck fuck _fuck.”_ Getting up from the couch, she began pacing back and forth around the sitting room. Well, this certainly complicated things. The police had always been on the lookout for her before, sure, but they’d never been actively seeking her out. Now that she’d gone and robbed a high profile research company, it was only a matter of time before they sent teams out to find her.

A knock on the front door yanked her attention away from her thoughts. That couldn’t be right—who the hell would be visiting her penthouse at seven in the morning on a Saturday? The knock came again, only affirming she wasn’t hearing things. Right, should probably go answer that. With a deep breath to calm her nerves, she marched to the front door and pulled it open.

A familiar beige skinned woman with a shaggy bob of black hair stood on the other side. She gave a wave in greeting. “Hi.”

“Cassandra?” Rose blinked several times, half-expecting the image of Cassandra Cain to disappear in a shimmer of hallucination. “What are you doing here?”

“Passing through,” she said. “Wanted to visit.”

“Oh, uh, alright.” Rose took a moment to shake the confusion out of her head before motioning inside. “Come on in, I guess.”

Cassandra strolled inside with a careful look around, taking in the open space of the penthouse foyer. “Been a while.”

“Guess it has, huh? Not since you and Dick helped me out with Holly.”

“How is she?”

“Good. Holly’s good.” Rose closed the door and entered the security code, then wandered back through the apartment. 

Cassandra followed her into the kitchen. “And you?”

“I’m…” That was a loaded question. A few days ago, she’d have been great. Better than she’d ever been, in fact. But now? Bit more complicated. “I’m alright. Things are—well, they’re going. Got a steady job, been helping the city. All that good stuff.”

Hopping up to sit on the kitchen island, Cassandra beamed a smile. “Glad to hear.”

Rose lifted an eyebrow. Just making herself right at home, apparently. “So, uh—I met your mom.”

Cassandra’s demeanor shifted. What had been cheery and carefree sank into the cold sternness of a hardened young woman. “You met Shiva? Why—how?”

“Someone hired her to kill me. Then I guess she just wanted to test my skill or something.”

“And you survived?”

“Barely. We beat the crap out of each other for a bit, but another assassin interrupted us before we could finish.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed, her brow creasing with thought. “She doesn’t like that.”

“Yeah, so she told me. Said the fight was tainted, and she wanted to start over fresh. Gave me a year to prepare.”

“Then she will be back in a year. Gave me the same time before we fought again.”

Rose folded her arms, and uttered a low hum. Not that she’d ever doubted Shiva’s claim before, but hearing it that way only made her worry more. As if she didn’t have enough on her plate right now, she had a crazy assassin planning to come back and fight her to the death again in a year. “Yeah—hey, she told me you two killed each other at one point? Told me to ask you about it. She didn’t mean, you know, actually  _ killed _ , did she?”

“Yes, she killed me. And I…” Cassandra lowered her gaze with a lengthy sigh. “I killed her.”

“Wait, what? But you—I mean, you’re both still clearly alive.”

She offered a small shrug. “I’ve died twice. First time, came back by a Lazarus Pit. Second time, my mom restarted my heart. When I killed her—must have fallen into the Lazarus Pit too.”

“Right, sure. Makes total sense.” Rose let that information sink in a moment. Turning to the refrigerator, she pulled out a bottled water, removed the cap, and chugged a good swig. “So, the hell’s a Lazarus Pit?”

“Mystical pools that bring the dead back to life,” Cassandra said. Her tone darkened as she explained, a distant gloss coming to her eyes. “But not always the same. Not always right.”

“Well that’s grim,” Rose muttered. So, Cassandra and her mother had literally murdered each other before. And come back to life via magic necromancy pools, apparently. Fucking hell. “Alright. Your parents are officially worse than mine. At least only Slade was an asshole.”

Cassandra shrugged again. “Not a contest.”

“Guess not. Still sucks, though.”

“Yes. Still sucks.”

Movement caught Rose’s attention. Turning a look towards one of the doorways across from the kitchen, she noticed Holly emerging from her bedroom, still dressed in her bright pink pajamas. Holly yawned, and wandered into the kitchen rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, morning, Holly,” she said, with a light smile. “Sorry, I’ll get started on breakfast in a minute—had a visitor. This is Cassandra, a friend of mine.”

Cassandra offered a wave of greeting, giving the girl a warm smile. “Nice to meet you. Doing well?”

Holly stared a moment, before turning a questioning look Rose.

“Oh, Cass—she doesn’t speak, remember?” Rose made a gesture at her own throat, indicating the spot where Holly’s vocal cords had been removed.

“Sorry, forgot.” Cassandra gave another look towards Holly, and this time raised her hands to form a series of signs.  _ “Do you know sign language?” _

Holly’s eyes brightened. She raised her own hands to sign a response, already grinning with excitement. Her hands moved emphatically, punctuating her delight.  _ “Yes! I understand!” _

_ “How are you?” _ Cassandra signed.

_ “Good!” _ Holly replied. _ “A little tired. Just woke up.” _

_ “It’s nice to meet you, Holly.” _

Holly offered a breathy gasp—what passed as a laugh for her—and signed back,  _ “It’s nice to meet you too, Cassandra!” _

Rose quirked a brow at Cass. “I didn’t realize you knew sign language.”

“I learned it many years ago,” she replied. “I couldn’t always speak. Or read. My dad taught me a different language. The language of the body—made me learn it for combat, but also useful for empathy. I learned to sign after I left him, to communicate. And I learned to speak later.”

“No kidding. Well, you certainly made her day.” Rose flashed a brief smile at Holly, who was now bouncing up and down on her toes excitedly. Turning back to the fridge, she pulled out a carton of eggs to start breakfast. “Hasn’t really met anyone who can understand her signs, other than me. But then, I am the one who taught her."

When she pulled her head out of the refrigerator, Holly looked to her and signed, _ “Are we going to see Becky today?” _

Rose paused a moment, as the acrid taste of bile climbed into the back of her throat. She gave a slow nod. “Yeah, yeah we can see her.”

Cassandra eyed the signs carefully, then looked to Rose. “Who’s Becky?”

“She’s—” Rose hovered in front of the stove, her vision blurring out of focus. Still clutching the egg carton, she searched around for the skillet, but for the life of her she couldn’t remember where the fuck she kept it. “She’s another friend.”

“Oh, a friend.” Cassandra brightened a smile. “Would like to meet her.”

Rose finally located the damned skillet, pulling it out of the drawer next to the stove. Once she had it in her grasp, she stood there staring. Again, her vision blurred. “Oh, that’s not—I mean she’s not—” She dropped the skillet on the stove with a clatter. “She’s in the hospital.”

Cassandra went quiet a moment, her brow lifting slowly with acknowledgement. “I am sorry.”

“Yeah, she’s—she’s not doing too well.” Still lost in half a daze, Rose opened the carton and started cracking eggs into the skillet. One, after another, after another. Holly liked her eggs, and she was pretty hungry herself. Maybe Cassandra wanted some too? By the time her focus returned, she had cracked the entire dozen into the skillet, leaving behind a gooey mess of egg whites behind on the counter. “Actually, you know what? I, uh—I think the company would be nice.”

* * *

The steady beeping of medical machines greeted them in the hospital room. Becky was there, same as always, lying unconscious in her bed with breathing tube down her throat. The breath left Rose’s lungs when she saw her—never got any easier. Pushing through the doorway, she gestured for Holly and Cassandra to follow. Holly scampered inside and stood at the bedside. Any previous excitement and joy evaporated in her eyes, replaced by the not-quite-understanding sorrow of a young girl. Holly frowned, and gave a quiet sniffle.

“What happened?” Cassandra asked, with a careful look towards the bed.

The instinctual impulse to tell her about Jerry clawed at Rose’s throat. This was Cassandra-freaking-Cain, former Batgirl and now Nightwing—one of the most skilled fighters in the world, and the exact kind of help Rose would hope for in taking down Jeremiah’s scheming ass. Hesitation and uncertainty snapped her jaw shut, and quelled the impulse. Jerry had already told her as much—if she went and told anyone about the leash he had her on, Becky dies. Or Holly. Or both of them. Couldn’t take that risk. 

“She’s a cop,” she said, with a vacant nod.  _ “We’re _ cops. Dangerous job.”

Cassandra turned a glance towards her, eyes squinting with examination. After a moment’s pause, she said, “You care for her. And you’re afraid. I can tell—the way your body moves.”

“Well, yeah. I mean, of course I am.” Rose swallowed the growing knot in her throat. “You and I are friends, right? And that’s great. But we don’t see each other that often. I see Becky damn near every day. I’ve gotten to know her. Gotten to like her— _ really _ like her.”

Cassandra quirked a brow. “More than just a friend?”

“She’s my  _ best  _ friend. And my partner. I—” A shudder ran threw her spine. She shivered, and wrapped her arms around herself. “I don’t want to lose her, you know? And I’ve never had that before—felt that way about someone. Never worried this much. Never felt this damn  _ sick  _ over one of my friends getting hurt. It’s new, and yeah—I’m afraid. What if she doesn’t make it?”

Cassandra gave a slow nod, and held a gentle hand on Rose’s arm. “I understand. And I am here if you need me. Maybe not your best friend, but still  _ a  _ friend, right?”

“Yeah.” A tremble quivered into Rose’s throat, and with a stifled breath she reached out and hugged Cassandra. “Still a friend. Thanks, Cass.”

* * *

Later that night, Rose sat at her kitchen counter, staring at the obnoxiously pink phone set before her. Half past ten already and still no call. She’d put Holly to bed two hours ago, and had since been sitting in this same spot, staring at the phone. Bastard wanted her to work, least he could do was tell her what to do already. Hard to do a job when you didn’t know what the hell it was.

When the phone started vibrating across the counter, she snatched it and held it to her ear. “About damn time.”

“Yes, terribly sorry about that,” came Jerry’s voice from the other end. “Got held up.”

“Right, of course you did. Just tell me what I’m doing.”

“You’ll be heading over to the Sapphire Industries building in Midtown tonight.”

Rose sighed, rubbing her fingers against her forehead. “Great, what do you need me to steal for you this time?”

“Sapphire Industries is a highly regarded research and development firm, focusing on the creation of advanced technology to improve the scientific world. You're to acquire one of their latest prototypes for me. It's currently in cold storage in a laboratory on the twentieth floor.”

“And let me guess—security is tight.”

“Naturally,” Jerry said, with a soft chuckle. “However, considering the little hiccup you had last night with security, we’re going to do things a little different this time. I’ve arranged for a helicopter to pick you up on the roof of your building in approximately thirty minutes. From there, you’ll be dropped off on the roof of the Sapphire Industries tower. I’ll also be giving you a wireless comm link. I’ll be able to use it to track your position and guide you along the best path to your objective. Hopefully, things will go a little smoother than last time.”

“Great, so not only do I have to do your dirty work, but I have to listen to you in my ear too?” Rose grumbled, heading towards her bedroom. “I’ll go suit up.”

* * *

Ravager hung outside the chopper off a rope ladder, dangling free over hundreds of feet of empty air. Skyscrapers rushed by below her in a blur, as the chopper lowered altitude. Gradually, they slowed, settling above one particular tower that didn’t happen to include a convenient helipad on which to land. So, this was where she got off. With a deep sigh, she waited until the chopper lowered enough so she could jump from the rope ladder. She landed with a tumbling roll and sprang her feet.

“No time to waste,” Jerry said, his voice garbled with static over the comm directly in her ear. “The night is already old. Proceed through the roof access door. This will take you into the main stairwell.”

Walking up to the door, Ravager noted a set of chains and a padlock barring it shut. “Oh look at that, it's locked. Guess we're gonna have to abort.”

“Rose...”

“Fine, fine.” She rolled her eye, then spun at the door with a thunderous whirling kick.

The chains snapped, and the door flew open violently on its hinges. A loud clang echoed down the stairwell beyond. Ravager paused, briefly glancing back over her shoulder at the chopper disappearing in the distance. No turning back now.

“You're currently on the twenty-fifth floor,” Jerry explained. “So, you'll want to head down five levels to the twentieth.”

“I can count, thanks.” Ravager broke into a swift jog down the stairs, keeping an eye on the numbers at each landing. Twenty-four, twenty-three, twenty-two...

Jerry's voice hissed over the radio again. “I've already taken the liberty of having one of my associates disable the building's alarms and security cameras, so you'll only need to deal with physical guards. I trust that shouldn't be a problem.”

“Please,” Ravager scoffed, “who do you think you're talking to?”

“Just checking.” He paused briefly, until she made it to the twentieth floor, and added, “Now, once you go through the door, you'll come to a small lobby. There should be three security guards stationed there—one behind a desk and the other two somewhere in the general vicinity. You'll want to disable them all before they can radio for backup.”

Ravager inched forward towards the twentieth floor door, fingers twitching against the handle. “They won't know what hit them.”

Shoving the door open, she sprinted into the lobby area. One quick glance around the room and she had it—the entire layout, processed in her brain in fractions of a second. One guard behind the desk, one standing near the elevator doors, a third sat in a chair nearby. Before they had a chance to yell in surprise, she rushed the closest man and drove a leaping kick into his skull. She pivoted and ran at the second man before the first even hit the floor. 

The second man flew against the wall behind him with a thunderous crash and slumped to the floor unmoving. One left. The third guard had barely reached for the taser at his belt by the time she lunged over the desk at him. He managed to grasp the handle and draw the weapon, but never got off a shot before her elbow cracked into his face. The man tumbled over the chair behind him and smacked face-down onto the carpet.

“They're down,” she said, pressing a finger to the earpiece.

“Excellent, now—”

“I need backup on the twentieth now!” a voice shouted. “We have an intruder! It's her—it's The Blade!”

Ravager’s heart jolted into her throat. Whirling around, she noticed a hidden alcove behind a corner of the lobby, where she couldn’t see from the stairwell door. Another guard stood there, a radio clutched to his mouth. With a frustrated shout, she lunged at him. He took a swing with a baton, but she deflected the strike and met the bottom of his jaw with an uppercut. He crumpled at her feet.

“I thought you said there were three!” she yelled.

“Did I?” A small chuckle came in over the earpiece. “How clumsy of me.”

“You son of a bitch…”

“Better get a move on, Rose. And I do hope you're good at improvising.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to bring Cass back in eventually, and now seemed a good time to do it. When I first wrote this fic, Cassandra hadn't even appeared yet, when in this version she's obviously a recurring character, and building up a nice friendship with Rose. So I wanted to give them another opportunity to interact, especially sine Rose encountered Lady Shiva. I figured that was a conversation they needed to have. It's good for Rose to realize too that no matter how rough things might be getting, she does still have other friends who can help her. Right now, Cass is that much needed support group.


	23. Every Rose Has Its Thorns #4: What-Ifs And Could-Have-Dones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose experiences a whole new set of worries, as her nightly activities at the behest of the villainous Jeremiah has turned her contentious vigilante image into that of an outright criminal.

Ravager bolted around the corner of another hallway. Two more guards appeared in her path. They attacked, she countered—down for the count, without even slowing her down. She continued her mad sprint into the next corridor. This place was far less scientific facility than it was typical office building, but with a layout designed by someone with a penchant for putting rats in mazes. Every ten feet she went, she came to another intersection and branching series of hallways and cubicles.

“Take your next left,” said Jerry’s voice in her ear.

Well, at least she had that asshole telling her where to go. Coming to the next intersection, she ran to the left. Several more security guards came around the corner in front of her, wielding stun guns and batons. Great, more people she had to knock out. Without so much as slowing her stride, she lunged at the group, catapulting herself over their heads near the ceiling. A snapping kick dropped one of them, and an elbow took out another. Landing on the balls of her feet, she spun and kicked upward, knocking the third guard off his feet with a blow to the chin. Couldn’t afford to waste time or slow down—speed was everything right now.

Jerry’s voice crackled into her ear again. “The lab should be at the end of the hallway. Second door on the right, marked with white and black stripes.”

Ravager slid to a stop outside the specially marked door. It was thick and metal, locked by some kind of electronic security panel. Fuck that—didn’t have the time. Raising a leg, she stomped forward at the metal door. Her boot thundered against it with a loud clang and dented the structure inward. A second stomp cracked the frame. A third swung it inward, tearing it off one of its hinges.

A cold wave of air greeted her inside. A shudder ran through her, each breath emitting a visible white cloud from her lips. Even through her suit and her genetically enhanced resilience, goosebumps rippled across her skin. Cold storage was right—had be ten below in here. The lab itself looked empty, save for a series of metal cabinets along one wall, and a table with a microscope near the center.

“Alright,” she said, moving inside, “where is this thing?

“Near the back,” Jerry replied. “There should be a hatch on the wall that opens into a small freezer.”

Ravager located the hatch and twisted the knob around several times until it sprang free with a loud hiss of air. The compartment within was coated in ice, and empty aside from a single metal canister about the size of her fist, with a series of buttons along one side of it. She removed the device. Even through her suit’s glove, the intense chill lanced through her fingers.

“Fuck, it’s heavy,” she muttered, as the weight of the object strained the muscles in her arm to hold upright. “Even for me. What the hell is this thing?”

“Nothing you need to worry about. You have what we came for, now get out of there. The helicopter should be making its approach back to the roof now. You’ll want to be there when it arrives.”

“Oh sure, only need to run back through the entire place while trying to—”

“Freeze!” Three figures appeared in the doorway—three more security guards. But they weren't pointing stun guns at her now. No—pistols. So, they’d finally stopped playing around. “Put the container down and step away with your hands up!”

Ravager glared at the men, slowly raising her arms with the canister clutched tight in her grip. In a soft whisper, she said, “Hey, is this thing fragile at all?”

A pause, and then Jerry replied, “It shouldn’t be. Why?”

“Just checking.” 

As the security guards moved closer to her, she pulled back her arm with the canister and threw it at the closest one to her. With her enhanced strength, the canister tore through the air like a missile and collided square in the man’s gut. He tumbled backwards, firing a stray shot from his gun towards the ceiling. The other two guards caught their stumbling friend to steady him, but before the group could regain their composure, she was on them. Ravager slipped between the three men, and with several quick, brutal strikes, dropped them to the floor unmoving. With a triumphant smirk, she reached down to retrieve the fallen canister.

“You threw it, didn’t you?” Jerry muttered, a clear tone of disapproval leaking through his words.

Ravager ran out of the lab back down the hall. “Got the job done, didn’t it?” 

Jerry sighed. “Just make it back to the roof. The chopper should be there shortly.”

* * *

Ravager burst out of the stairwell onto the roof and spun around in a quick circle, scanning the city skyline for any sign of the helicopter. Nothing but empty skies lit up by lights from surrounding skyscrapers. With a frustrated grumble, she ran towards the edge of the rooftop and waited, the canister tucked under her arm like a football. The sound of pursuing guards echoed up from the stairwell behind her.

“Where is it, Jerry?” she said, with another frantic look around.

“Give it a moment,” he replied.

The thwumping of rotors reached her ears above the background city noise. She snapped a look to her left, where a helicopter flew into view around the side of another building. Somewhere in the back of her head, the police side of her wanted to comment on how many flight laws the pilot was violating by flying this low into a city, but there were a whole lot more things to be concerned with right now. Like the security guards now emerging from the stairwell and taking aim at her.

“Better time it carefully,” Jerry said. “You’ll only get one shot at this.”

Fuck, this was going to suck. Ravager took off in a run along the edge of the rooftop, too fast for her pursuers to get a clear shot. The guards fired, bullets missing wide and sailing off somewhere into the night beyond. When she reached the other end of the roof, she planted a boot on the ledge and leaped forward.

For two horrifying seconds, she found herself propelled over empty air, nothing but cars and concrete two hundred and fifty feet below her. With one arm clasped around the canister, she reached out with her other arm and closed her fingers around the bottom run of the chopper’s extended rope ladder. The force of impact wrenched at her shoulder, nearly tearing her arm out of its socket, but she held strong as the helicopter gained altitude and left the Sapphire Industries tower behind.

Jerry’s voice returned to her ear, with a delightfully pleased tone. “Well done, Rose. You’ve proven yourself capable yet again.”

“Fuck off, asshole,” she said, dangling off the rope ladder. No way to climb with one arm occupied by the canister. Just had to hang there until they landed. “You alerted those guards just to fuck with me, didn’t you?”

“And yet you still pulled through, as I knew you would. I’ll see you shortly to drop off your new acquisition. In the meantime, do hang around.”

* * *

Four days later, Rose sat slumped at her kitchen counter, scrolling through a news article on her phone—an article entitled: _Robbery At Keifer Chemicals – The Blade Strikes Again_. She scanned through the following paragraphs long enough for a knot of disgust to bubble into her gut. With a low huff, she shoved the phone away and let her face drop into her hands. She was a criminal now, plain and simple. Didn’t matter why she was doing it at this point—personal motives wouldn’t matter to the police, or the media, or anyone else. As far as Silverstone City was concerned, their local vigilante had turned into a violent thief.

Not to mention, she’d been helping Jeremiah accomplish whatever goal he was working towards. Wasn’t like he was sending her out stealing these strange devices for shits and giggles. He had a purpose behind it, some kind of plan. If she didn’t figure out a way to stop him soon, without endangering Becky or Holly, there was no telling what kind of ramifications might ensue.

The steady hum of a phone vibrating across a granite counter top pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked to her phone, the face brightly lit up with an incoming call. According to the caller ID: Grayson. She hovered a hand above the phone a moment, caught in a tug of war between her impulses and her better judgement on whether or not to answer.

Dick had been calling quite a lot over the past few days. So far, she hadn’t bothered to pick up. With his resources, no doubt he’d heard about the news in Silverstone—knew what she’d been up to. But she couldn’t talk to him. Not yet. If she answered, he’d want to know what the hell was going on. If she told him, he’d want to help. And if he helped, Jerry would pull the trigger on Becky. Rose didn’t know the first thing about how far Jerry’s reach extended in this city, but she didn’t want to have to find out the hard way. When the phone stopped vibrating and went dark again, she pulled her hand back with a sigh.

Holly wandered into the kitchen a moment later, rubbing at her eyes with a lengthy yawn. Shit, right—had to get her ready for school. Holly made her way to the kitchen counter, hopped up onto a seat across from Rose, and held her chin in her hands, legs kicking back and forth beneath her.

“Oh, Holly, I—sorry, just cereal this morning,” Rose said, with a soft groan. “Didn’t get a chance to cook anything.”

Holly frowned, squinting her eyes in a careful stare. After a moment’s pause, she raised her hands and signed, _“What’s wrong?”_

“Nothing, I’m fine. I’ve just—I’ve had a lot on my mind lately. No need to worry.”

Another series of signs. _“Worried about Becky?”_

Rose swallowed, and gave a nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Well, no lie there.

Holly’s frown deepened, as her posture sank. _“I’m sorry.”_

“It’s alright, really,” Rose said, with an insistent shake of her head. “The doctors say Becky’s healing well. She might even be awake when we see her later today.”

Excitement lit up in Holly’s eyes, as she emphatically signed, _“That’s great!”_

“Yeah… Yeah, it is.” 

Rose forced a smile, but it broke with a sudden shudder. Smile fading, she leaned against the counter and held her head up with a hand. Sure, Becky recovering was great news, but that didn't take her out of danger. She was still stuck in a hospital bed, helpless if Jerry decided to strike. Everything rode on Rose following his orders.

When Rose found the energy to lift her head, Holly was in the seat next to her. _“Everything will be okay,”_ she signed, with a gentle smile. Leaning forward, Holly wrapped her arms around her and gave a tight, reassuring hug.

Rose swallowed, melting into the embrace with deep hug of her own. How did she deserve this wonderful girl? “Thank you, Holly.”

* * *

Rose kept her head down, as she made her way through the station, avoiding eye contact with every other officer she passed. All anyone had been talking about the past few days, of course, had been the Blade. How to find her, how to stop her, what had made her go bad, and all that bullcrap—gossip and conjecture she wanted no part of. She already knew they were looking for her. Didn’t need to hear about it.

“Oh, Sarah, hey!”

Except when they specifically called her out and ran up to her. Looking up from the floor, she noticed a wiry framed officer approaching her, his babyish face clean shaven. Officer Stevens, from what she recalled—a young officer like herself, not more than a year on the force. Slightly annoying, but ultimately harmless. “What is it?”

Stevens thumbed towards the back end of the station. “Captain said he was looking for you. Think he wants to talk to you about something.”

Rose cocked a brow, and turned her gaze across the open floor of desks. The police captain’s office door was shut, and the blinds closed. “Oh, thanks. I’ll see what he needs.”

“Sure thing.” Stevens gave a quick wave and hurried off somewhere else in the department.

Rose stared at the closed door a moment longer, before bringing herself to march across the station through the maze of officers and secretaries doing paperwork at their desks. She stood in front of the door with her hand hovering in front of the handle, waiting. Wasn’t often the captain asked to speak with her personally. Actually, pretty much never. She’d only ever spoken to him a few times in passing, around when she’d first joined the precinct. So what on earth did he want?

“It’s open,” said a deep, smooth voice from the other side of the door.

Rose half-jumped at the declaration. Okay, so apparently the captain could see through his blinds. Or maybe just her silhouette through the frosted window on the door. Swallowing her nerves, she opened the door and walked inside. “Right, sorry.”

“Officer Walker, have a seat. And close the door behind you.”

Rose closed the door and stood at attention. The man sitting on the other side of the desk was older, probably somewhere in his mid-fifties, with rich umber brown skin and neatly buzzed black hair, streaked and spotted with gray in places. He dressed in full uniform, with an insignia of two gold bars denoting his rank of captain. His deep brown eyes locked onto her when she came forward, a stern expression written across his stubbled, chiseled jaw. Set in front of the clutter of folders and papers on his desk, a name plaque read: Police Captain Gerald Palmer.

“You wanted to see me?” Rose said, standing stiff in front of the desk.

“At ease, Officer.” Captain Palmer motioned to a chair. “Please, have a seat.”

Removing her police cap, Rose followed the instruction and lowered herself into the chair. An odd moment of silence passed between them before she brought herself to ask, “What’s this about?”

The captain breathed deep, a distant frown creasing across his face. “Wanted to ask about your partner. How is she? Haven’t had a chance to drop by the hospital myself yet—work keeps me busy, unfortunately.”

“Oh—she’s better. Great, actually, from what I hear.” Rose relaxed into the chair with a stifled breath of relief. And here she’d half-expected the captain to have figured out she was the Blade. “She’s a fighter, and she’s been healing well. Better than expected. According to the doctors, she might be awake when I visit after I get off shift.”

And like that, Captain Palmer’s frown shifted into a smile, giving the man an unexpectedly brighter and friendlier demeanor. “That’s good to hear. Officer Chavez is a good woman, and a good cop. The precinct will be better when she’s back.”

Rose gave a slow nod. “I just wish I could have done more. Maybe stopped it from happening in the first place.”

“Walker, if there’s anything I’ve learned over my career, it’s that you can’t focus on the what-ifs and could-have-dones.” The captain leaned forward, hands folded together on the desk. “What happened to Officer Chavez was horrible, but it’s an undeniable risk of the job we face everyday. In this case, she survived. I know plenty of cops who weren’t so lucky. So stop focusing on what you wish you could have done, and focus on what you can do now.”

“I—I’m trying.” Rose stared at the floor. She _was_ doing what she could to keep Becky safe. Right now, that just happened to involve committing crimes at the behest of a villainous dickbag. Still didn’t change the fact that she’d put Becky in this position. Not just by failing to stop her shooter—by not stopping Jerry the first time she encountered him, by being her friend at all, and by ever settling down in this damn city in the first place and trying to play hero. If not for her, Becky wouldn’t be in the hospital right now, and wouldn’t be under constant threat. “It’s just hard, seeing her like that.”

“I know, believe me. It sucks.” The captain leaned back in his chair again and opened one of the drawers of his desk. “But from what I hear, you’ve been visiting her quite a lot the past week.”

“Well, yeah. She’s my partner. And my friend.”

“And she’s lucky to have you. When you see her today-” he pulled a greeting card out of the drawer and set it on the desk, sliding it towards her- “Give her this. It’s from everyone at the station. I know it isn’t much, but I’d like her to know we’re thinking of her.”

Rose opened the card, finding dozens of signatures scribbled within, each offering sentiments and well-wishes. So many, in fact, that people had run out of space inside and moved to the back of the card. With an unwitting chuckle, she smiled at it and gave a nod. “Thanks, Captain. She’ll love it.”

* * *

Rose gave the hospital room door a gentle knock, as she pushed it open and peered inside. Holly stood behind her, rocking back and forth on her toes with her hands held behind her back. Darkness greeted them inside the room, accompanied by the familiar rhythmic beeping of machines. This time, however, the silhouette of the figure lying in bed moved, shifting to look towards the door as they entered.

“Hey,” said Becky, her voice weak and raspy. “You guys came.”

The air rushed from Rose’s lungs, as she flicked on the light switch. Becky squinted when the lights turned on, holding an arm up to shield her eyes. A slight yellow tinge had come to her normally tawny skin, and heavy bags hung below her eyes, but she was awake. Awake and alive. Rose crossed the room in two long strides and sat in the chair next to the bed.

“Of course we came,” she said, with a relieved smile. “Been here damn near every day, you know.”

Becky returned the smile, fighting through the twinge of pain that began creasing across her face. “Ay, the doctors mentioned that. My family came by earlier too. Poor mama was in tears. But hey, I’m alive, ah? That’s a win.”

Holly scurried up to the side of the bed with a big smile, already rifling through a series of signs.

“Ha, slow down there,” Becky said, with a small grin. “I don’t know sign language.”

“She says she’s glad you’re feeling better,” Rose said.

“Ah, _gracias_. I’m glad too.” Becky broke into a harsh fit of coughs, forcing her flat against the bed with a pained grimace. When the coughing stopped, she let out a sigh and brushed back a wave of her curly brown hair. “Still got a long way to go, though, ah? Hurts just to breathe.”

“She’s not the only one who’s glad you’re alright, either.” Rose leaned forward, absently reaching out a hand to hold Becky’s. “I was—well, I was really worried for a while there. And you know I don’t get worried often.”

Becky cocked a brow, a smirk curling across her face as she eyed their held hands. “ Take it easy there, Sarah. You’re gonna make me blush.”

Rose blinked, and instinctively pulled back her hand. Heat climbed into her cheeks. “Oh, uh—sorry, reflex. I just—well, I was holding your hand a lot while you were out. Just, I don’t know, to reassure you. While you were unconscious. Or something.”

“Oh, you should see the look on your face.” Becky burst out with a snorting laugh, holding a hand over her mouth. “Really, though, you’re sweet. _Gracias._ I mean it.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re welcome.” With a stern clear of her throat, she straightened herself in her chair and looked away. Of all the ways for her to go and make this way more awkward than it had to be… “So, I don’t suppose you’ve seen the news yet?”

“ _Sí_ , watched it this morning. Didn’t I tell you that Blade was bad news?”

Well, guess that was a bit much to hope for. “I guess you did, yeah.”

“I mean, I can't say I expected something like this to happen, but I knew she'd be trouble. Looks like we got a lot of work to do once I'm back on my feet, ah? Assuming you guys don’t catch her before then.”

Rose replied with a muffled grumble. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

“I guess she is a tough one, from what I hear,” Becky said, with a soft chuckle. “Probably one of those metas or something. Looks like we have our hands full.”

Rose offered a subtle nod, but didn’t say anything. What _could_ she say? She’d already tried defending the Blade once before, and that was when she wasn’t viewed as an outright criminal in the public eye. Trying to argue against that now would be pointless. During the following pause, Holly hopped into another chair and grabbed a remote from the table. She pointed it at the television and turned it on, flipping through channels. Becky watched her with a gentle smile.

“Oh, by the way-” Rose pulled the greeting card, now sealed in an envelope, out of her jacket pocket- “Captain wanted me to give this to you. It’s from everyone at the station.”

Becky’s eyes widened, as she sat up straighter. _“Ay Dios…_ You’re kidding. For me?”

“Open it up for yourself.”

Becky took the envelope and tore it open, pulling out the greeting card inside. All of two seconds after she opened the card to read the signatures within, her eyes glistened with an onset of tears. She held a hand over her mouth, staring at the card in disbelief. “This is—I don’t know what to say. Thank you. So much.”

“You can thank them all when you make it back to work,” Rose said, with a nod. “Damn near everyone signed it. Think I even saw the custodial staff in there.”

“Ay, I will.” Becky sniffled and wiped her eyes dry, as she gently set down the card on the table next to her. “So, you two sticking around for a bit?”

“Well, I do have to get Holly to bed in a couple hours,” Rose said, with a shrug. “School night and all. But until then, we didn’t have anything else planned. Unless you need your rest?”

“Ah, please. I’m good for as long as you’re here.”

Rose smiled. “Then yeah. We’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Becky is okay! At least, as okay as she can be after what she's been through. But that doesn't stop Jerry from using her to have a hold on Rose, as we see. I also got a chance to introduce their police captain in this chapter, Captain Palmer. This is earlier than he shows up in the original fic by a large margin, but good because he does become more prominent as the series goes on, so I figured I should introduce him as early as possible. Aside from the action at the beginning this is mostly a slower chapter, but necessary to show how things are progressing since she started working with Jerry. Things that will cause a domino effect in Rose's life some time in the future, and boy won't that be fun?


	24. Every Rose Has Its Thorns #5: Clash of the (Teen) Titans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An old teammate shows up in Silverstone to get to the bottom of why Rose has gone on a crime spree, but she's not about to let him stop her.

Rose stood in the middle of her bedroom dressed in full Ravager gear. Aside from the mask, which she held in front of her and stared at until her vision blurred out of focus. The more she worked for Jerry, the more she hated putting this thing on. But what choice did she have? Only thing she could do at this point was slip the mask over her head and head out. According to Jerry’s phone call a few minutes ago, this would be her last job. At least for the time being. That meant she was running out of time. Whatever Jerry was planning, he was almost done. If she was going to find a way to stop him, she had to do it soon, and somehow without putting Becky or Holly in danger.

Nothing came to her. She paced in circles around the room, muttering to herself. No matter what she thought of, it ended in Jerry giving the order to kill Becky. Why the hell couldn’t she have been born with a more useful superpower? Like Flash level speed, or teleportation, or the ability to duplicate herself. What good was seeing a few moments into the future if she couldn’t stop what she saw?

The vibration of a phone caught her attention. She looked to the bed, where her phone lay on a pillow. The screen lit up with a familiar name: Grayson. Calling again, huh? Well, now wasn’t a great time. Leaving her phone on the bed, she marched out of the room, strapping her swords to her back. “Sorry, Dick. Can’t come to the phone right now.”

* * *

Ravager crashed through the third story window of the warehouse, blowing apart the glass in a shower of tiny shards. She plummeted thirty feet below, hitting the ground in a controlled roll and springing back to her feet. The impact rattled her body, but nothing her enhanced durability couldn’t push through. A few bruises were a small price to pay for a quick getaway. Several security guards appeared at the broken window now three stories above her, looking out in surprise—no one willing to throw themselves out and follow.

Giving the men a quick wave, she darted down the road to where her bike was parked and placed the strange device she’d stolen into the back compartment. No idea what this thing was for, but considering it was from the genetics company GenTech, probably wasn’t a coffee grinder. S.T.A.R. Labs, Sapphire Industries, Keifer Chemicals, now GenTech? Just what the hell was Jeremiah doing with all this crap? Gunning the engine, her motorcycle bolted down the street and left the warehouse quickly behind her.

“It’s done,” she said, with a deep exhale.

The sound of Jerry’s voice crackled into her ear, echoing through her entire motorcycle helmet. “Excellent. Return to the lab at once. Go slow and stick to back roads—don’t want you catching the attention of the authorities, now that they’re on such high alert for you.”

Ravager grumbled, slowing to a normal speed. She veered to the left at an upcoming fork and remained on the less frequented roads as she made her way back towards the heart of Silverstone. Tonight’s escapade had taken her some distance out of the city, now driving on a long stretch with nothing but open fields and trees on either side of her. That’d put her around twenty minutes away from Jerry’s lab—twenty minutes to figure out what the hell to do about him.

Headlights appeared ahead of her. She glared, banking right near the edge of the road to give as wide a berth as possible. Didn’t want random drivers getting anymore of a look at her than could be helped. With any luck that driver wouldn’t even be paying attention, or might not even realize who the costumed woman on motorcycle with swords strapped to her back was. Her hopes dashed when the headlights veered towards her. Or rather a single headlight, from another motorcycle. The opposing driver blocked her path and skid to a halt in front of her. Ravager forced her own bike to a screeching stop to avoid collision.

“Hold up—got company,” she said, tensing her fingers around the handlebars. 

“Then deal with it,” Jerry replied. “And quickly.”

Ravager squinted, attempting to stare through the opposing headlight to make out the silhouetted figure atop the motorcycle. Couldn’t be the cops—no police lights. But then who…? The other headlight dimmed, allowing hers to wash over the figure and reveal an athletic young man dressed in a red and black costume, complete with flared cape and domino mask over his eyes, a mop of dark hair topping his head—someone she hadn’t seen since she left the Teen Titans nearly a year ago. Her heart jolted into her throat.

“Tim?” She removed her helmet, glaring at her former teammate—Tim Drake, the second Robin and now Red Robin, current leader of the Teen Titans. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Rose.” He got off his bike and stood up, cape billowing around him as he took several steps towards her. “We need to talk.”

“I really don’t have the time,” she said, giving the engine a subtle rev. “Kinda busy.”

“Then _make_ time.”

Her jaw tightened. She could take off now, try to outrun him—would probably have to break every traffic law in the book to do it, but she could. And probably get the attention of the city’s police department along the way. Or she could sit there and hear him out. She hadn’t seen him in nearly a year, after all—or any of the other Titans, for that matter. So what the hell was he doing here now?

Sitting straighter on her bike, she muttered, “Long way from San Francisco, aren’t you?”

Red Robin folded his arms, maintaining a stern glare. “Was already in Gotham when Batman asked me to check up on you. You’ve been stealing, hurting innocent people, haven’t been answering your phone—that’s not like you.”

“Yeah, well maybe you don’t know me as well as you think?”

“I’ve worked with you for close to three years on the Titans. I know you well enough to know something’s wrong.”

Ravager frowned. “How’d you even find me?”

“There’s a tracker in your ride,” he said, with a nod towards her motorcycle. “Batman installed it there in case of emergencies.”

A wave of irritation burned through her. “Of fucking course he did.”

“Rose, whatever’s going on with you, you can tell me. If you’re in trouble, I can help. Despite how you left the team, you’re still one of us. You’re still family.”

“Is that _you_ talking, Tim? Or is that Dick?” When no answer came, Ravager coughed out a disbelieving laugh and shook her head. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You guys still haven’t forgiven me. Probably never will. And that’s fine—I don’t care. I know what I did, and I have to live with it. But I have my own life now, and I don’t need to go running back to your team begging for forgiveness."

Red Robin closed his eyes a moment, sighing. “I know, and I’m glad you’re finding your own way. Really, whether you believe me or not. But something’s going on with you right now. Something’s wrong, and you need help. That’s why Batman sent me here—to help you before this gets out of control.”

Jerry’s voice crackled into her earpiece. “Not a word, Rose. You know what will happen.”

“I _know,”_ she muttered, clenching fists around her handlebars. “But I can’t, Tim. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t suppose there’s any way I can change your mind?”

“Not a chance in hell.”

Red Robin muttered in disappointment, while reaching behind his back beneath his cape. He pulled out a small rod, which extended into a full metal staff at the click of a button. “Then I have to stop you. If you’re acting like a criminal, I’ll treat you like a criminal—at least until you decide to come clean.”

Ravager shifted atop her motorcycle, poised to leap away if she had to. “You try, and I swear I’ll snap your arm.”

He ignored her. With a quick spin, he reached to his utility belt and pulled out two red and yellow disks, tossing them at her. Ravager back flipped off her bike, allowing the disks to sail harmlessly overhead into the night. She landed on her feet and took a defensive stance, glaring daggers into the former Boy Wonder. 

“You’ll have to do a hell of a lot better than that,” she said. “I can dodge those in my sleep.”

He responded by reaching into his belt again, this time pulling out two small pellets. When he threw them at the ground, they exploded with a thick cloud of smoke. The smoke wrapped over and enveloped them, until Red Robin was little more than a dark silhouette in the haze. A second later, his form backed up and disappeared entirely.

“Smoke—really?” She turned at the sound of footsteps across the pavement. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“Just tell me what’s going on and we don’t have to do this.” His footsteps drifted to the left, but he remained invisible through the thick black cloud.

A flash of precognition burst in her head. Ravager spun and deflected the incoming kick—countered with her own. He boot struck empty air, sailing harmlessly through the smoke. Red Robin’s shadow disappeared once more into the cloud.

“You say that like I’m supposed to be afraid,” she said, keeping her guard raised. “You were always more of a tactician than you were a fighter, Tim. You know you can’t take me.”

Another flash—more disks this time. She twisted her body to avoid them, and jumped backward to dodge a swinging strike from her opponent’s staff. He charged her, leading with with several more thrusts and swings. Way too slow. Ravager ducked and weaved around his strikes until she closed into his guard, and swung her elbow forward. The blow cracked into Red Robin’s jaw, sending him tumbling backwards into the smoke. His form didn’t disappear entirely, though—smoke was already starting to dissipate, thanks to the growing breeze.

Seizing the opportunity, she darted at him. Just a couple good shots and she could disable him long enough to get away. Not like she wanted to hurt him, but he wouldn’t get out of her way—no other choice. Halfway towards him, paralyzing, electric pain ripped through her foot and tore into the rest of her body. She screamed. Muscles tensed and spasmed, fire burned through her veins—like being struck by a fucking bolt of lighting.

The pain vanished several seconds later. She stumbled back a few steps, barely catching her balance, her body fried and numb. Thunder pounded between her ears. Glancing down at her feet, she noticed a flat round device on the ground—some kind of stun mine, maybe. Bastard had used the cover of the smoke to set it, then lured her into the trap.

“Okay,” she wheezed, with a gulp of air. “That really fucking hurt.”

“Rose, please!” Red Robin took a step towards her, brandishing his staff at the ready. “Tell me what’s wrong. I don’t want to hurt you!”

“That’s good, then.” With another deep breath, she sprinted at him. “Because that’s the last time you’re going to!”

Despite pushing herself, her muscles twitched and spasmed, sluggish after the jolting blast. Pins and needles pricked all along her arms and legs. She stumbled as she ran, legs wobbling beneath her. Her punch was slow, lazy. He sidestepped it with ease and countered with a twirl of his staff. The metal pole cracked her across the jaw. She fell to a knee, gasping for breath.

“You may want to hurry things up a little,” came Jerry’s voice in her ear. “And maybe try harder. Would be a shame if he stopped you, so close to finishing your last job. Just think of Rebecca.”

The pounding between her ears pulsed. Heat tore through her skull, down into the rest of her body. _No_. No one was hurting Becky. Not now. Not _ever_. And like hell was she going to let Tim get in the way of that. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, Ravager sprang upright and drew one of her swords. Red Robin’s eyes widened as she swung it at him, and raised the staff to parry. But thanks to Dick’s upgrades, her weapons were a hell of a lot better than they used to be.

Her blade cut clean through the staff, forcing Red Robin’s arms apart in an off balance stutter. That one flinch was all she needed. As soon as his guard was open, she snapped a fist forward, knuckles cracking square across the side of his face. He grunted in pain, staggering away with both halves of his staff raised in desperate defense. She pressed the assault—a kick to the ribs, a jab to the gut, an elbow to the back. Red Robin collapsed face first into the ground, where she kept him by pinning her boot in the center of his shoulders.

“Rose, you don’t have to do this,” he said, with a frantic struggle beneath her boot. 

She stepped harder, forcing him to relent as she drove his body closer against the pavement. She didn’t have to press too hard to keep him from moving, not with her kind of strength. “Idiot, just stay down! You know you can’t beat me like this.”

Red Robin relented with a grunting breath. “I know. That’s why I brought help.” Pressing a hand to his ear, he added, “Alright, your move.”

The sound of an incoming aircraft whirred overhead. Ravager raised an eyebrow, looking upward as a sleek, miniature jet glided into view above the road. It slowed to a steady hover, and lowered to the ground.

“You gotta be fucking kidding me,” she muttered, glaring at the tinted windshield of the Bat-Jet. “Who’d you bring, huh? Robin? Batgirl? Another one of the Titans?”

As the hatch opened, however, her gut sank when she saw the figure emerge. Not Robin or Batgirl at all—a woman dressed in a sleek black, armored bodysuit with a blue bird emblazoned across the chest, and a domino mask around her eyes. Nightwing leaped out of the jet and landed in a crouch before straightening herself with a stern glare.

“Cass?”

“Hi.” She didn’t wave, though. Didn’t smile. She circled, her eyes sharp and piercing—the gaze of a hardened fighter. “Let him go.”

Ravager looked down at Red Robin beneath her boot. “I—Cass, please. I can’t let you stop me. I’m not—I have to go.”

Doubtful she even could stop them. Red Robin? No problem. But Nightwing? Maybe—a _big_ maybe. Would probably be about as tough a fight as Lady Shiva, if not tougher. And even then she might lose. As much as Rose liked to boast, Cassandra Cain was the one fighter she wasn’t absolutely sure she could beat if she had to, and this was not the time she wanted to take that test.

“You’re hurting people,” Nightwing said, still circling. “Stealing. Why? You’re not a criminal.”

“I wish I could tell you. I do, believe me, but I—” The crackling onset of Jerry’s voice about to comment in her ear cut off her words with a frustrated groan. “Just get out of my way. I don’t want to fight you.”

Nightwing sighed, her gaze softening as she pressed a button on her utility belt. “Don’t have to.”

Ravager’s precog went off—didn’t matter. There was nowhere to go. No way to outrun the motion sensors on the Bat-Jet. No way to avoid the coiling projectile it fired at her, tracking her every movement to be sure it fired where she was going to be. A thick metal net stretched out and wrapped around her, knocking her off her feet and pinning her to the ground. The edges of the net then hummed and grew heavy, anchoring into the pavement. She pushed upright, but the net didn’t budge.

“No!” Ravager pushed harder, throwing her entire weight against the metal cables. They hummed louder and remained firmly in place. As hard as she struggled, even getting to her knees required a colossal effort that left her wheezing and exhausted. “Let me out of this!”

“Sorry, Rose,” Red Robin said, as he shifted upright from the ground. He took a moment to wipe his bleeding lip clean, before standing and heading back to his motorcycle. “Thanks, Nightwing. I’ll give Batman a call, let him know we have her. Keep an eye on her.”

Nightwing looked to her with a frown. “Understood.”

“Please!” Ravager shoved herself again and again against the weighted net. It pushed back harder, and harder. The more she fought, the heavier it became. “You don’t know what you’re doing!”

Jerry’s voice crackled into her ear. “Things not going well? That’s a shame. I do hope I’m not going to have to make a call.”

Panic erupted into her throat, nearly bringing her to vomit. She heaved forward with a coughing yell, while tugging at the metal cables of the net with every ounce of her might. The net strained, but didn’t budge. “Cass, please!”

Nightwing stared back at her, a flinching grimace coming to her face, but remained quiet.

 _Quiet_.

Ravager stopped struggling. That was it. She needed a way to warn them, without Jerry knowing. Without him _hearing_. Looking to Cassandra, she raised her hands and went through a quick series of signs. _“Becky is in danger. Someone is listening.”_

Nightwing’s brow lifted. She signed back, _“Who? How?”_

She pointed to her ear, then signed, _“Need help. Let me go and follow me. I’ll explain. Keep Tim behind.”_

A pause followed. Nightwing glanced towards the motorcycle, where Red Robin was speaking into a radio. With a nod, she signed. _“Understood. I will help.”_

With another click of Nightwing’s utility belt, the net stopped humming and the crushing weight disappeared. Ravager huffed a deep exhale and gave the cables another furious tug—metal snapped beneath her strength, tearing apart bit by bit until she’d created a hole large enough to fit through. At the same time, Nightwing pulled a small pellet out of her belt and tossed it towards Red Robin’s motorcycle.

“Look out!” Nightwing shouted.

Red Robin looked up, just in time for a bright flash to erupt into his vision. He recoiled with harsh gasp, tumbling off his bike onto the ground. “Nightwing! What’s going on!”

“Must have had a flashbang!” she replied, motioning for Ravager to move. “Getting away!”

Ravager darted to her own motorcycle and gunned the engine. “Sorry, Tim, but you’re not the only one with useful toys!”

“I'll pursue!” Nightwing said, taking a seat on Red Robin’s motorcycle. “Follow when you can! Take the jet.”

Red Robin rolled around on the ground, blinking and rubbing his eyes. “Just make sure she doesn’t do anything reckless!”

Ravager gave one last look behind her, and offered a quick sign of _“thank you”_ to Cass, before screeching off like a bat out of hell down the street. Trees and fields blurred by her on either side. “That’s not gonna slow them down for long!”

A pause, before Jerry’s voice replied, “You’d better lose them quickly.”

“I don’t know if I can! Not on these back roads at least. Don’t suppose you got any guys you can send my way? Could use some backup!”

“I suppose I could, but then you’re supposed to be doing this on your own.”

“Save the lecture! They’re tracking me through my ride, so unless you want them showing up at your lab, I’m gonna need a change in transportation!”

Jerry offered an indifferent sigh. “Very well. Head towards the east overpass and take the Goldstar exit. I’ll have my men meet you at the corner of the Kwik Mart.”

“Not sure if I can keep them off me that long,” she said, with a shake of her head. “The tunnel’s faster—heads right under Midtown.”

“No. I’ll lose your comm signal through the tunnel, and I can’t guide you if I can’t speak to you.”

With Jerry not actually there to see her, Ravager spread a grin across her face. Exactly, asshole. “I’ll be fine. Have your men meet me on the other side!”

Jerry grumbled with annoyance. “Very well. Just remember the consequences, should you go and get yourself caught.”

* * *

The Silverstone Tunnel was a long stretch of road that traveled underneath most of the city, dark except for the florescent light strips lining the walls and ceiling. Ravager weaved her bike through traffic, shifting lanes and cutting off more than a few of justifiably upset drivers. Almost there. Glancing back at one of her mirrors, she noticed Nightwing not far behind her, weaving a similar path through the maze of cars. The traffic wasn’t terribly heavy at this hour, but enough that one mistake could end in a nasty collision. Just had to be careful, in that case.

Ravager focused ahead. She caught sight of the maintenance tunnel a few seconds later—a side passage that led into a back area meant for workers and maintenance personnel. The space was narrow enough that her bike barely fit through, before widening out into an open work area filled with pipes, panels, and various doors marked with warning labels for electrical danger. She slowed to a stop and killed the engine.

“Jerry? Can you hear me?” Static hissed into her ear. Perfect.

The sound of another motorcycle rumbled into view. Nightwing pulled up next to her and turned the bike off, before jumping off to her feet. She signed, _"Safe?"_

"Yeah, we can talk now. Thank you for trusting me, I mean it." Ravager released a shuddering breath, the weight of a boulder lifting free of her shoulders. “I’m in trouble, Cass. It’s Becky—the guy who had her shot. He’s got me on a leash, and I haven’t been able to think of a way to stop him. Until now.”

“We won’t let him hurt her.” Nightwing held a hand to Ravager’s shoulder and gave a reaffirming nod. “I told you I was here for you. I mean it. Tell me how to help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So bringing in Tim here might seem a little odd or random, but it made sense to me that Dick would send someone to check on Rose and what the hell is going on with her, especially after she hasn't been returning his calls. And I wanted it to be one of the Titans, considering her relation with them and how she left the team not yet being truly resolved. Later on we'll get to see them talk a bit more about the state of the team since she left and all that good stuff. On the other hand, we have Cassandra coming through as Rose's friend and ready to help out. I thought having the sign language as a way to warn Cass about what was going on was a nice touch, since it would have been something Jerry couldn't expect. And with the completion of his goals imminent, it's now or never for Rose to try for a hail marry to stop him, and having Cassandra there is the exact weapon she needs.


	25. Every Rose Has Its Thorns #6: Status Quo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a little help from Nightwing and Red Robin, Ravager makes her move against Jeremiah to stop his operations before it's too late.

Ravager emerged from the tunnel, gunning the motorcycle down a back street of Silverstone’s East District. Not a lot of traffic around these parts, and no sign of the police or the Bat-Jet. Good—meant no one had noticed her so far, or at least hadn't bothered to report a sighting of the Blade, which would make this a lot easier. Chances were, Tim wouldn’t risk flying low into another city to find her, either. This wasn’t Gotham, after all. Just as well—let Cass deal with him.

A hiss of static crackled in her ear, followed by Jerry’s stern tone. “Took a while getting through that tunnel. Run into trouble?”

“Couldn’t shake her,” she said. “Had to stop and put her down, and that wasn’t easy. Not sure how much you follow the Gotham capes, but the new Nightwing is brutal. Good news is, I’m not being followed anymore, at least for the moment. Gonna need that pickup still, otherwise Red Robin will track me back to the lab.”

Jerry gave a thoughtful hum, before replying, “My men are waiting in an alley a couple streets over from your current position. Turn down Birchwood Street.”

“Birchwood, got it. See you soon.”

* * *

Ravager strolled into the laboratory with a grimace. She rolled her shoulders and clenched her fists to work out the strain in her muscles, and the lingering numbness tingling at her fingertips. Damn Tim and his fucking shock mine. That was going to sting in the morning.

“Ah, Rose.” Jeremiah looked up from his work table with a grin. Hugo Strange stood next to him, staring at something beneath a microscope. “Glad you could join us. I must admit, you had me worried for a while.”

“Yeah, well I got the job done,” she muttered, holding out the device she’d stolen earlier. “What is it, anyway? Looks like some kind of fancy centrifuge.”

Professor Strange walked over from his workstation to retrieve the device, giving a curious raise of his eyebrow at her on the way by. With a nod from Jeremiah, he answered, “Remarkably, that’s not far off. This is what’s called a genetic material splicer. Highly advanced and difficult to come by, developed by GenTech.”

“Uh huh. And what’s it do?”

Returning to the table with the microscope, Strange said, “It joins together two separate DNA sequences. So long as the genetic samples are compatible, one can use this to create an entirely new and unique genetic strain. New animal species, for example, or giving a person animal-like characteristics.”

Ravager’s gaze narrowed behind her mask. “Or manufacturing superpowers?”

Strange paused, glancing back at her with a slight smirk. “Yes, or that. If you know what you’re doing, of course.”

“You’re kidding, right?” She turned her glare towards Jeremiah. “That’s the reason you tried to ruin my life and had me steal for you? So you could turn yourself into some kind of supe?”

Jerry sighed, giving a shake of his head. “As usual, Rose, you think far too simplistically.”

“Yeah, so enlighten me.”

“I believe you’ve been told quite enough already.” He looked over to Strange. “How is the process coming, Hugo?”

Professor Strange set the genetic splicer on the table, and began adding materials into the main chamber—a glob of red-brown putty among them, as well as a deep crimson liquid that looked suspiciously like blood. “Should only take a few minutes.”

Jerry grinned. “Excellent. This has taken far too long already.

Ravager continued her glaring, fingers twitching at her side ready to make a move. Couldn’t yet, though. Not until the signal. Not until she had confirmation.

“You’re free to go, by the way,” Jerry stated, with a flippant wave of his hand towards the door. “I’ve no more use of your services, and I’m sure there are other places you’d rather be.”

“If you think I’m just walking out of here and letting you go through with whatever the hell you’re planning here,” she said, with a shake of her head, “then you’re delusional.”

“Oh, am I?” Jerry glared back at her. “And what exactly do you intend to do about it? If anything happens to me—”

“Then Becky dies, I know. But only if your hospital goons can get to her.”

His gaze narrowed with heated intensity. “You think they can’t?”

“I  _ know  _ they can’t.” Come on, damn it. Any time now, Cass. _Please_. 

Static crackled into her ear, a signal hijacked through the earpiece Jerry had given her. “All set. Got them covered.”

_There_ it was. Ravager drew her swords and lunged at Jerry. “You’re finished, asshole!”

A flash of precognition tore through her head mid-leap. Just had to fucking jump, didn’t she? Nowhere to go in midair, even if she could see the attack coming. The energy blast exploded into her gut, knocking the wind from her in a bursting gasp. She spiraled back to the floor with a smoking circle charred into the front of her armor, and the entire room spinning around her.

“Thank you, Hugo.” Jerry smoothed out the front of his suit, and carefully straightened his tie. “Your timing is impeccable, as always.”

Strange lowered the energy pistol in his grasp, the barrel smoking from its recently fired shot. “Anything to help.”

“Pretty quick on the draw there, Professor.” Ravager forced her way up to one knee and coughed, sucking in a deep gulp of air to get her breath back. “Not making that mistake twice.”

Jerry walked over to her. Raising one of his legs, he stomped at the back of her shoulders. The impact forced her against the floor. “And here I thought you could follow your end of our deal.”

She hacked out another cough. “I’d be a little more concerned right now if I were you.”

“Concerned? No. Disappointed. Now I have to make a point.” Jerry pulled out a wireless radio from his pocket and held it to his lips. “Make the call to Nurse Miller. Tell her to pull the plug on the cop.” Lowering the radio, he looked down at her again and shook his head. “I was rather hoping I wouldn’t have to do that, but then you had to go and be rebellious. Pity.”

Ravager chuckled, a slow, mocking grin curling across her face.

Jerry glared at her, and drove his heel harder into her backside. “What’s so funny?”

“Oh, nothing. I just feel bad for Nurse Miller.”

* * *

The door to Rebecca Chavez’s hospital room opened with the quiet squeak of old hinges. Nurse Miller poked her head inside with a close look at the sleeping patient in bed. Still under sedation to help her sleep, good. No chance of her waking up to alert anyone. With a quick scurry, Nurse Miller slipped inside and shut the door behind her. The room was dark, and this wing of the hospital mostly deserted so late at night—easy enough to get in and out before anyone could question where she’d been.

Approaching the side of the bed, she raised the syringe she carried and pointed the needle at the patient’s IV bag. The death would appear natural—simple organ failure as a result of complications from the patient’s recovery. Nothing to link back to her or her employer. “Sorry about this, dear, but orders are orders. I’m sure you were a fine person.”

As she poised the needle to prick into the bag, however, a gentle tap came to her shoulder. Blinking in surprise, she spun around, syringe brandished at the ready. A silhouette stood there behind her, features blurred through the room’s shadows—a woman, from the look of it, dressed up in some strange costume. Almost like one of those crime fighters…

“Can’t let you do that,” the woman stated.

“I—who are—where did you come from?” Nurse Miller stammered.

“Behind the door.” The costumed woman gave a smile, and then lashed out a quick jab.

Colors exploded in her vision. She staggered backwards against the bed, bounced off the frame, and collapsed to the floor holding her jaw. The world spun around her with the maddening throb of a vicious headache. A second blow cracked against the back of her head, and the world flashed dark.

* * *

“Becky’s safe,” came Nightwing’s voice over the earpiece. “Don’t need to worry.”

Jerry’s eyes flickered with frantic comprehension, as Ravager grinned wider. “That’s why it took you so long getting through the tunnel. You didn’t fight that friend of yours—you told her everything, while I couldn’t hear you.”

“And then had her go to the hospital to guard Becky,” she said, raising a hand to clamp around the bastard’s ankle. 

“And the other one?”

“Covering Holly. You got nothing on me right now, asshole. Nothing to keep me from tearing you apart.”

Jerry’s expression soured with a grimace. “Clever girl.”

“Oh, and one more thing-” Ravager tightened her grip on his ankle- “That energy blast? Didn’t actually hurt much.”

With a firm yank, she wrenched the man’s leg out from underneath him. He stumbled, pinwheeling his arms for balance before crashing to the floor on his ass. Ravager flipped herself up to her feet and retrieved her swords, then turned on him. Jerry scrambled to get back to his own feet, but she put him back down with a solid kick to the chest.

“Oh, I am so going to enjoy this,” she said, with a mad grin. 

“Hugo!” Jeremiah rolled across the floor out of the way, taking cover behind the work table.

Professor Strange raised the energy pistol again and fired. Not this time. Ravager darted around the blast and closed the distance, swords at the ready. She crouched low and sprang forward. With a single swipe, she knocked the weapon from his hands. As she moved in to drive the pommel of her other sword against his skull, he flipped backwards out of the way in a surprising display of acrobatics from the old man.

She raised a brow. “Fancy moves there, Professor.”

“I’ve spent half my career going up against the Batman,” he replied, shifting into a combative stance. “What did you expect?”

“Fair point, I guess.” Ravager charged, swords out at the ready once again. “Too bad it won’t help.”

Strange grabbed a metal pipe from a nearby counter and readied himself, apparently intent on engaging her. Poor bastard never stood a chance. He took a swing with the pipe, and she deflected it with all the effort of batting away a fly. She pressed the attack, breaking through his guard and driving an elbow square against his chin. With a pained cry, he crashed into the table behind him and spun to the floor. He lay there, face down and unmoving.

“Now, where was I?” she said, turning a glare towards Jerry.

Jerry sprinted across the lab, too far away to stop before he pounded his fist against a large red button on the wall. A loud, blaring alarm echoed through the underground facility, no doubt alerting whatever security he had down here. Let him throw all the goons at her he wanted—wouldn’t help. By the time he turned away from the alarm, she cut him off and crossed her swords over either side of her throat.

“Going somewhere?” she said.

Jerry scowled at her. “You won’t kill me, Rose.”

“And what gives you that idea?” Slicing with one of her blades, she cut open a deep gash along one side of his arm. He recoiled, collapsing against the wall with a bright streak of crimson splashing over his suit jacket. “You used me. Made me steal for you. Made me hurt innocent people in the process. You nearly _killed_ Becky! Why the hell would I let you off this time?”

Grasping hold of his bleeding arm, Jerry looked back at her, grinning through his pain. “Because, Rose, I’m not out of tricks yet.”

The side wall of the laboratory exploded inward in a shower of metal and concrete rubble. A massive figure crashed forward, a hulking monstrosity of muscle and power standing more than ten feet tall, to the point where it had to hunch to fit inside the room. A guttural bellow tore from the monster's throat, as it turned a beady gaze towards them.

Jerry’s grin grew wider. “I believe you remember Blockbuster?”

Ravager’s heart jolted into her throat, as she dove away from the monster’s wild charge. Blockbuster swung a trunk-like arm, the muscled limb battering through laboratory equipment with the ease of tearing apart cardboard. Mother _fucker_. This could get real problematic real fast. She’d barely beaten this thing the first time she fought it, and it did not look any less deadly. At least this time she was in far better condition to be fighting it.

“Could have sworn I killed this ugly bastard!” she said, as she ducked beneath another vicious swing. She leaped out of range and kept as much distance as she could in the relatively small lab. Staying anywhere close to this beast would not end well—had to time her attacks, pick her openings.

“You did,” Jerry said, pushing his glasses higher up onto his nose. “So I made another. Now, you two play nice.”

With a smug grin, he ran over to Strange’s workstation and turned off the gene splicer, which had begun emitting a steady hum. Removing the glass vial from the center of the device, he slid it into a medical injector and sprinted out of the lab, leaving Blockbuster in Ravager’s way.

“Son of a bitch! Get back here!”

Ravager jumped back from another clubbing swing of the monster’s arm. She kicked forward after he missed, propelled herself upright. The slower mass of muscle swatted at her but she planted her hands against his shoulders and flipped over his head, her knees scraping against the ceiling as she went. She landed in a crouch behind the beast. Before he could turn around, she sliced with both her swords. Sharpened Promethium alloy tore through tendons as though cutting a ripe tomato. Blood sprayed from both the monster's achilles, and with a guttural roar he collapsed to the floor with a thunderous boom, unable to stand.

“Huh.” Ravager glanced down at her bloodied swords. Last time, she’d barely been able to leave a mark on this monstrosity. Cocking a grin, she took off in a dead sprint out of the facility. “Thanks for the upgrades, Dick.”

* * *

Ravager burst out the front door of the abandoned office building, onto the empty night street beyond. About thirty paces away down the sidewalk, a figure ran clutching his bleeding arm. Not getting away this time, prick. She quickened her pace, racing after the man. He might have had a head start on her, but she was far faster.

“Belmont!” she shouted, as the distance between them shrunk. “Get back here, you son of a bitch!”

She lunged, throwing her shoulder into the fleeing man’s backside. A dull grunt burst from his lips. The two tumbled to the ground, a mess of contorted limbs rolling across pavement. Something clattered—the medical injector. It skittered across the street, bounced off a light pole, and rolled its way into a storm drain, where it vanished into the darkness below. Ravager poised herself over the fallen Jeremiah and turned him over. With a knee pressed against his chest, she held her swords against his throat.

“Well played, Rose,” he grunted, with a hiss of pain. Blood oozed freely down his arm, pooling onto the pavement beneath him. “I suppose this is the part where you kill me?”

“It should be.” She edged the blades closer against his skin. “But death is too good for you.”

“Is that so?” Jerry raised an eyebrow, his lips pursed with curiosity. “Wasn’t too good for Pavoni.”

“Pavoni was scum!” she shrieked, driving her knee harder into his chest. “You’re just—you’re not even worth it. I think you’ll enjoy prison, though. I hear Blackgate is lovely this time of year.”

“Blackgate? I’m afraid that’s in Gotham. Bit outside your jurisdiction,  _ Officer.” _

“Oh, trust me—I’ll make it happen.”

Jerry scoffed. “And what are you going to put me there for, hmm? You don’t actually have anything on me. Nothing you can use without revealing your little vigilante secret, at least.”

“No?” She smirked, glancing back down the street towards the abandoned building that sat above Jeremiah’s secret laboratory. “I’m sure the police will find something when they get an anonymous tip to check out your secret facility. Genetic experimentation on humans, for one. Not to mention all the devices I’ve stolen for you over the past week. Your prints are all over the place down there. Not to mention Professor Strange, a known criminal from Gotham. And I’m part of the police, Jerry—I’ll make sure they put you away for good.”

A frown snaked over Jerry’s face. Almost as quickly, the frown shifted into a delighted grin. With a soft chuckle, he said, “Once again, Rose, well played. I was right—you are a thrilling opponent. In spite of everything you had against you, still you found a way to best me.”

“Yeah, I’m great like that.”

Jerry sighed, pleasantly. “Do you remember last time, when I allowed you to live after you survived our first encounter?”

Her glare hardened. “What about it?”

“I told you to consider it a reward for your efforts. I think you deserve the same this time, don’t you?”

Ravager blinked in confusion, easing her knee slightly away from the man’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

“As I’m sure you haven’t forgotten, the people who work for me had instructions to go after Rebecca and Holly should anything happen to me, yes?”

No shit she hadn’t forgotten. That was a problem she’d planned to solve later. Nightwing and Red Robin might be protecting them right now, but they wouldn’t be able to forever. “What’s your point?”

“I’ll call off those orders. As a reward for besting me yet again, I’ll make sure they aren’t targeted by me or anyone working for me in the future.”

She leaned back into her knee, driving the point against Jerry’s sternum. “What’s the catch? And why the hell should I believe anything you say?”

“No catch,” he insisted, with a coughing chuckle. His eyes flickered with delight behind his broken glasses. “I enjoy this, Rose. You’ve made my life so exceedingly difficult, and yet I don’t find myself annoyed—just the opposite. You are quite the entertaining challenge, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Call it keeping the status quo.”

“That is the dumbest logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Perhaps, but it is the truth. If you require a more logical answer, though, how’s this? I am quite fond of living, and if I go and kill your loved ones, well—you’re not a saint like Batman, are you? Case in point—Pavoni.”

She glared at him a while longer, before finally removing her swords from his throat. “Fair enough. Doesn’t change anything, though. I'm still sending you to Blackgate.”

Jerry grinned, letting his head fall back against the pavement. He turned slightly, eyeing the storm drain where the the fallen injector had vanished. “Oh, I’m looking forward to it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, Rose puts a stop to Jeremiah, while managing to keep Becky and Holly safe. We also see more of Jerry's whole twisted view on the Rose as his adversary, and how much he actually enjoys it. But all ends well—this time, at least. But there's still another chapter to come in this arc, with some more tidbits to cover. Namely, what ends up happening with Jerry, Rose finally having a real talk with Tim about the Titans, and Becky getting out of the hospital after recovering. Not to mention, this whole series of events will have greatly impacted how Rose views the necessity of her vigilantism


	26. Every Rose Has Its Thorns #7: Making Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose has serious conflicts about whether or not she should continue playing hero, now that she's realized exactly what she has to lose if she screws up again.

Rose paced in a slow circle outside Becky’s hospital room. Same place she’d been for the past three hours, since the hospital opened to visitors and let her in. Becky was still asleep, but she’d be awake soon. Hopefully. No matter how long it took, Rose would be there. She’d called in sick that morning, so she had the whole day to spend. At least until she had to pick up Holly from school, anyway.

The sound of footsteps came around the corner of the hallway, as two familiar figures walked into view. The moment she saw them, her heart jittered. She made a beeline towards the woman and, without a word, pulled her in for a warm, appreciative hug. 

“Thought you’d gone back to Gotham already,” she said, with soft breath.

Cass smiled and hugged back. “Had to see you were okay. And Becky.”

“Yeah, I’m good—we’re good.” Releasing the hug, Rose stepped back with a clear of her throat. “Thank you. Really. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what the hell would have happened. Jeremiah would probably still be running rampant, at the least.”

“Not a problem.” Cass gave a thumbs-up. “It’s what friends are for.”

“Friends. Yeah.” Rose cocked a half-smile, partially in disbelief—still sounded weird, calling Cassandra Cain her friend, and yet that’s exactly what they were. Sure as hell had done more for her over the past half a year than most people had in her lifetime. Aside from Becky, and maybe Dick, Cass might be the closest friend she had right now. With a deep sigh, she turned to the other individual standing next to Cassandra. “Tim.”

He gave a nod, shifting awkwardly on his feet with his hands stuffed in his jeans pockets. “Rose.”

“Sorry for the, uh…” She motioned to her own face, indicating where the black eye and cut lip were on Tim’s face.

“And I’m sorry for electrocuting you,” he said. “And, you know, for not trusting you.”

Rose scoffed, and shook her head. “Don’t be. You gave me every chance to come clean, but I didn’t. Couldn’t. As far as you knew, I’d gone off the deep end. I’d have done the same in your position, if I’m being honest.”

“Well, fortunately Cass was there. Gave you a way to alert us without tipping off that Jeremiah guy.”

“Yeah, well, to be fair, I could have told her when she came to visit the first time.” Rose turned to Cass with an apologetic shake of her head. “I was just afraid. Afraid of what would happen if Jerry found out. He’d already made it perfectly clear he wasn’t bluffing, and I don’t want to lose Becky—you know that.”

Cassandra nodded. “I know. It worked out, though.”

“Yeah, through sheer luck. If you guys hadn’t shown up when you did… Thank you, again. Really. Both of you.”

“There’s no need to thank us,” Tim said. “You were in a rough spot, and you needed help. That’s what we do—we help our friends.”

A choked laugh found its way from her throat. “And I’m still your friend, huh?”

“I like to think so.”

Rose took in a deep breath, slowly nodding in acknowledgement. Well, if there was anything she wouldn’t have given a chance in hell, it was Tim Drake still calling her a friend. Looking to Cass, she said, “You mind giving us a minute alone?”

Cassandra looked back and forth between her and Tim. With a nod, she replied, “Of course,” and made her way around the corner of the hallway.

When Cass was gone, Rose folded her arms and paced a few steps. “So…” Not a great way to start the conversation, but her mind struggled to find the right words. This was still one conversation she hadn’t been planning on having for a long while. “How are things back the tower?”

“About as normal as they can be,” Tim said, with a shrug. “Took a while after the incident for things to calm down, especially between the team and the rest of the city. From what I remember, people were calling it the Teen Titans’ biggest failure.”

Rose winced. “Yup, sounds about right.”

”But things have settled since then. We’ve pushed on, kept going. Even got a couple new members. Well, old-new.”

“Oh yeah?”

Tim nodded. “Reached out to Static and Bombshell a few months ago, both decided to rejoin the team. Aquagirl took a rain check.”

“Hmph.” Rose narrowed a skeptical gaze. “Keep your eyes on that Bombshell. She’s trouble.”

“I’m pretty sure she’d say the same about you.”

“Heh, that’s fair.” Rose stopped her pacing, arms folded across her chest. There was a tension in the air, unspoken but plainly tangible. Couldn’t keep dancing around the biggest issue with small talk about new team members. Not without the air getting heavier every second. With a deep, reassuring breath, she swallowed and asked, “How’s Bart?”

A brief moment of silence, before Tim managed a quiet, “He’s recovering.”

The air thickened again, strangling around her throat. “Still?”

Tim gave a slow nod. “The beam that collapsed on him severed a couple vertebrae in his spine. Speedsters heal fast, but if the injury isn’t set properly it doesn’t heal right. That was the issue. He’s gone through a few surgeries since then, but he still has trouble walking.”

Rose choked out a cough, as the air squeezed. She swallowed again, but the knot lodged in her throat and wouldn’t leave. “Damn idiot. Never should have run in there. Should have just let the whole damn building crash down on me, let me suffer from my own dumb mistake. Instead he tries to be a hero and ruins his career because of me. Because _I_ didn’t listen. Because I thought I knew better, and got people _killed_ because of it.”

Tim stared back at her, taking a step closer. “Kid Flash never tried to be a hero—he _was_ one. Still is. It’s as much a part of him as it is of you, or any of the other Titans. He went in there because that’s we do, and he knew the risks. The same risks we all take every time we put on our costumes. That’s something you need to understand, but as long as you keep blaming yourself, you'll never be able to move past it.”

“I’m trying, Tim—really. It’s just hard, alright? Failing a mission because of your own stupidity, getting innocent people killed, and one of your teammates injured? That’s not something you just forget.”

“So don’t forget it. But don’t let it eat away at you, either. Take it as a lesson and use it to do better.”

Rose huffed, and ran her fingers back through her hair. “I know, and I mean I have. Or I’m trying. It’s what I’m doing here in Silverstone, on my own. Trying to do better. To do something right. At least for myself, you know?”

“I know,” he said, with a slow nod. The barest hint of a smile leaked through. “I am happy for you, seeing what you’ve done here. What you’ve been building for yourself. It’s good for you.”

She turned a glance towards Becky’s closed hospital room door, a faint smile coming to her lips. “Yeah. I think so too.”

* * *

Becky awoke with a yawn, stretching her arms out above her. Rose perked up at the first sign of movement, straightening in her seat next to the bed. Took another hour after Tim and Cass had left, but she’d been patient. Becky deserved the rest, after all.

“Mm, Sarah?” Becky blinked, rubbing at her eyes. “That you?”

“Yeah,” she said, with a smile. “I’m here.”

Becky yawned again before settling down with a flinch of pain. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

“Took the day off. Thought I’d spend it here with you.”

“Oy, you didn’t have to go and do that. Don’t want you wasting your sick days because of me.”

Rose shrugged. “Not a waste, really. Wouldn’t rather be anywhere else right now. Besides, I wanted to bring you this.” She leaned over the side of the chair to pick up a small box of thin cardboard, colored pink with yellow stars on it. “Picked it up on the way here this morning, thought you’d enjoy it.”

Becky raised an eyebrow at the box, as Rose set it into her lap. With a curious hum, she opened it to find a cake inside, frosted white with yellow and green designs. _“Ay Dios.._. You didn’t have to.”

“I know. Still wanted to. I mean, you’re gonna get your ‘glad you didn’t die cake’ when you return to the station, but since that won’t be for a while—I don’t know, consider this a ‘thanks for being my friend’ cake.”

A grin came to Becky’s face, as she pinched the edge of the cake with her fingers, tore off a small piece, and shoved it into her mouth. Her eyes immediately closed, followed by a groan of satisfaction. “Ah, vanilla. That’s good stuff.”

Rose stifled a laugh, as she reached into the plastic bag at the other side of her chair to pull out a set of plastic utensils. “Well, I’d hope so, but maybe use a fork?”

“Girl, I will not be judged,” Becky replied, with a raspy chortle. She grabbed another fingerful of cake and took a bite, licking her fingers clean of frosting when she was done. Only then did she finally accept one of the plastic forks. “But thanks.”

Rose joined in picking at the cake with her own fork. “Oh, so good news—I think we got the guy who shot you.”

Becky choked on a mouthful of frosting, her eyes going wide. “For real?”

“Too early to say for sure since they only brought him in last night, but from what I heard they found a ton of shady crap in this guy’s hideout, including a pistol that might be a match for the bullet that shot you.”

“Might be?”

Rose gave a slow nod, digging in for another bite of cake. “Forensics hasn’t had a chance to run tests yet, but the call that came in and tipped off the station to this guy mentioned he might have a connection to what happened to you. Considering everything else they found—seems legit.”

“No kidding?” A distant smile came to her face. “That’s good. Let the bastard get what he deserves. But what about this anonymous tip, ah? Seems a little suspicious.”

“From what they told me when I called in this morning, the caller was a woman.”

Becky cocked a brow. “You thinking the Blade?”

“It’s a possibility.”

“Maybe. Doesn’t explain why she would have been going around breaking into research firms and stealing things, though.” Becky ate another bite, taking a moment to lick the frosting from the plastic fork. “Guess I’d owe her some thanks, in that case. Still doesn’t change the fact she’s a wanted criminal we need to bring in, though.”

“I wouldn’t worry too much about her,” Rose said, as she absently stabbed the prongs of her fork into the partially eaten cake. “Something tells me we won’t be seeing too much of her for a while.”

Becky gave a curious squint. “And what makes you say that?”

Rose tapped her fingers against her knee, as her vision blurred the longer she stared at the cake. “Call it a hunch.”

* * *

Later that night, Rose stood in her bedroom, staring at the exposed wall containing her Ravager gear. She’d been here before, contemplating the same thing not too long ago. Should she keep patrolling the city at night? Should she continue being a vigilante, trying to clean up crime outside the law? Was any of that worth it? The questions played on repeat in her head, an unending chorus of uncertainty bringing her skull into a dull throb.

Would certainly be a hell of a lot more difficult getting anything done, now that the police were on active search for her. Sure, she stopped more crime than she could solely as a cop, but how long could she keep it up? Sooner or later they’d catch her, or she’d screw up and get herself killed. And what then? That would leave Holly without anyone to look after her. Becky, betrayed by someone pretending to be a different person the entire time they’d known each other. Rose’s life a ruin, or ended altogether. There was no question of _if_ at this point—only when. _When_ she’d destroy everything she’d worked so hard to build.

The world didn’t need Rose Wilson, or the Ravager. Certainly not the Blade. _She_ didn’t need them. But Silverstone could use Sarah Walker, dedicated police officer. Becky and Holly certainly liked Sarah. They didn’t even know Rose, not really. So why bother trying to live the double life, when she could settle into the one that was actually good? Rose Wilson’s life had been a mess for more than half a decade. Sarah Walker’s life had been great, in the short seven months she’d existed. By all accounts, she should keep living as Sarah, and leave everything about Rose behind.

Conflict stormed through her mind. But if she did that, people like Jerry would never get caught. Or Pavoni. Or Rupert Thorne. A whole world of criminal scum oozing through Silverstone’s underbelly that had only been brought to justice thanks to the Blade. Thanks to the Ravager. Rose Wilson. No sense denying her nightly vigilantism let her do things she couldn’t do as a cop. It let her do things she was damn good at.

With a frustrated groan, Rose fell back on her mattress and stared at the ceiling. So what the fuck should she do? A break, maybe. Yeah. That seemed like a decent compromise. The Blade needed to disappear for a while. Then, well… 

Then she’d see.

* * *

The next six weeks flew by, with Silverstone Central abuzz even more than it had when Deadshot and Rupert Thorne had been brought in. The news of some crazed man named Jeremiah Belmont performing human experiments in a hidden laboratory beneath the city had understandably spread concern amongst the people. Not only that, but one Hugo Strange had also been discovered to be involved—a name well known as a high profile villain of Gotham. The only thing making that news easier to swallow was the fact that the police had stopped it—arrested the people involved, raided the laboratory, and collected hordes of disturbing evidence.

Not only that, but they’d also recovered the gun that was a match for the bullet that shot one of their own, another victory to add. Linking the attempted murder of a cop to the men arrested, on top of everything else they’d discovered, meant the case against them would be rock solid. And, as it turned out, a call from Commissioner Gordon of Gotham confirmed both Strange and Belmont were wanted for other crimes in that city. Made for an easy extradition to have their trial handled in Gotham, instead. Rose could thank Batman for calling in that favor. 

Since then, things had quieted down a bit at the station. Until one Rebecca Chavez made her grand return that Monday morning. As soon as she stepped inside the station, everyone who saw her dropped what they were doing and rushed over to greet her, and welcome her back. Made getting to the locker room to change into her uniform take close to half an hour, but she never stopped smiling the entire way. Rose stood off to the side watching the whole thing with a grin of her own, especially when their fellow officers brought out the infamous “glad you didn’t die” cake.

When Becky finally changed into her uniform and exited the locker room, Rose walked up beside her and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Welcome back.”

Becky flashed a broad smile. “Good to be back, believe me. Couldn’t stand another second of that hospital.”

“I know the feeling.” Rose chuckled, removing her arm so the pair could make their way towards the front doors of the station. “So hey, I was thinking—don't have any plans this weekend. Maybe you want to go out again, do something? I mean, after being cooped up in that hospital for so long, might want to have some fun. Could go bowling again or something.”

A slow, confused expression twisted across Becky’s brow. “Alright, who are you and what have you done with Sarah?”

“Very funny. So, what do you say?”

Becky grinned. “Please, you had me at bowling.”

* * *

Jeremiah Belmont sat quietly in the pack of the armored prisoner transport vehicle, as it rumbled down the highway. He stared at the handcuffs around his wrists and ankles, chains attached from the cuffs to the wall of the vehicle. Tight and secure, as to be expected. He’d had his doubts, but of course Rose had made good on her promise to send him to Blackgate. He’d never even been to Gotham before, yet here he was being transported to face additional charges for crimes he had apparently committed there.

That was, of course, if he ever made it there. With a contemplative hum, he raised his hands to stare closer at them. Now, how did he make it work? The theory and application were two entirely different things, much to his chagrin. He knew what he should be able to do, could envision it, and yet no matter how hard he concentrated nothing happened. 

After a few moments longer of struggle, he lowered his hands and turned a glance towards the barred windows between the prisoner compartment and the front seats. “How much longer until we reach Gotham?”

The officer in the passenger seat glared back at him. “What’s it to you?”

“Merely curious.”

“Couple hours. Think you can shut up that long?”

“Of course, Officer.”

He returned to staring at his hands. Still some time left to figure it out. Granted, he’d been trying for six weeks now with no luck, but perhaps this would be the day. He only needed to concentrate harder. Focus. Envision the change he wished to happen. His vision blurred, but he made no attempt to clear it. He continued staring, mindless in his efforts to focus. He would accomplish this. He _would_ succeed.

And then it happened—a quiver in his fingers. They melted like liquid, shifting form into something new. Shifting to how he envisioned them. A puff of air expelled from his throat, as he let out the breath he’d been holding. Almost instantly, his fingers became solid again and reformed into their normal shape. He grinned, wiggling his fingers back and forth.

Now that was progress.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, as this arc comes to a close we can really see how Rose is struggling with the decision to continue fighting crime as a vigilante, as opposed to just as a cop. Sure, she can stop people like Jeremiah, but in doing so we puts not just her own life and well being at risk, but also the people she's closest too. She's never had that before, so she's starting to realize exactly how difficult it is to keep up that double life. And for the time being at least, it seems she's decided to take as break and give the normal life a try, even if she has to do it as Sarah Walker.
> 
> Also that talk with Tim was something that needed to happen. We'd seen a vague overview of what led to her leaving the Titans a while ago, but here we learn to what extent. Not only did she get hostages killed, and damage the team's reputation with their city, but Bart Allen, aka Kid Flash, was also injured while pulling her out of the collapsing building, and may have had his hero career cut short because of it. That's something Rose still blames herself for, and most likely not everyone from the Titans is as grudge-free as Tim.
> 
> Oh, and of course Jerry is up to something. Because why wouldn't he be? Who knows what'll come of that.


	27. Prelude of Shadow #1: Actual Freaking Ninjas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While responding to a call about a break in, Rose and Becky are attacked by someone apparently dressed up like a ninja. Like, an actual ninja.

Rose sang aloud to the steady music pumping through the penthouse sound system, as she flipped a pancake onto its other side. A mountainous stack of fresh pancakes stood on the counter next to her, along with a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon. Normally, she didn’t cook up this much for breakfast, but she was in a particularly good mood that morning. No real reason for it either—was just a beautiful goddamn day, so why not enjoy it?

Granted, she’d been in an uncharacteristically jovial mood for a while now, ever since she’d given up her nightly escapades as Ravager. Something about not having to go out every night, not worrying about patrolling the streets to fight crime, or evading the cops, and actually getting decent sleep did a number on reducing her stress levels. What had originally been planned as a couple weeks’ break had turned into two solid months of vigilante-free life. Not to mention, with the sudden disappearance of the Blade from Silverstone, the local media and police force had turned their attention elsewhere. No point trying to chase a ghost, after all. Someday, maybe she’d put on the costume again, but right now? Sarah Walker was perfectly happy living her normal-ass life.

As Rose slid the final pancake onto the stack, Holly strolled into the kitchen and sat down at the table, her legs swinging back and forth. Rose promptly turned down the music and carried the plates of food over to her.

“Hot off the stove, so be careful not to burn yourself,” she said, with a grin. “Not expecting you to eat all of it, either—a lot of that’s for me. And maybe for leftovers.”

Holly rolled her eyes, and signed, _“I won’t burn myself.”_

“I know, I know.” Rose waved off the comment, then placed the pan and other dirty dishes into the sink. “Just eat up quick so we can get going. Don’t want to be late for your last day of school, right?”

Another roll of the eyes, and another series of signs. _“I won’t be late unless you make me late.”_

“Mhm, well I’ll be in the shower. Go ahead and eat, brush your teeth, make sure you’re ready. Be out in a few.”

Rose practically danced her way into the bathroom, the music still pulsing in the back of her head with a steady rhythm. Had she ever been this happy before? Not in almost seven years, at least, and even then she’d been a fairly stoic kid. Never in her life had she been this damn giddy. Throughout the entirety of her shower and up until she returned to the kitchen, she continued humming to herself.

Holly was standing by the apartment door waiting with a backpack slung over her shoulder, tapping her foot impatiently. With an exasperated look, she signed, _“You’re going to make me late!”_

“Oh I am not,” Rose said, brushing back her damp hair over one shoulder. She gave Holly a pat on the back, ushering her towards the door. “Now come on, kiddo, let’s get you to school.”

* * *

“So, Holly’s last day of school, ah?” said Becky, as she turned the police cruiser down the street.

Rose looked over from the passenger’s seat with a thoughtful hum. “Yep, then I have to figure out what I’m doing for the summer. I’m hoping Mrs. Silva can watch her throughout the day now, instead of just afternoons, but she still hasn’t given me a definite answer. Not that I don’t trust her to keep herself occupied alone at home—she is almost ten now—but still.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.” Becky glanced over with a subtle smirk. “But the more important question—what are you going to do about vacation?”

Rose furrowed her brow in her confusion. “Vacation?”

“Well yeah, girl! It’s the summer. Kids need to go out, have some fun, cut loose. I know you got some vacation time saved up, right? Take her camping, or head up to the beach or something.”

“Oh—hadn’t even thought about that.”

Becky gave a light sigh, setting an elbow against the open window of her door. “You really are clueless sometimes, you know that?”

“Hey, I don’t try to be,” she said, folding her arms. “I’m just not experienced with this.”

“Ah, don’t worry about it. Happens to the best of us. Besides, you’re pretty cute when you’re clueless.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, turning a slow look towards her partner.

A second after she’d said it, Becky smacked herself in the forehead and groaned. “Sorry—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Hey, what was that about not worrying?” Rose smirked back. “It’s fine, really.”

“Still awkward,” Becky muttered, with a distinct clear of her throat. She kept her eyes focused forward, on the road.

“Guess you’re not quite over your crush, huh?”

Becky uttered a barely audible squeak of distress, as her cheeks began to darken. “Guess not. Sorry.”

“Oh, come on, stop apologizing. I know I’m awesome.”

“Ay, that is definitely one word for it.”

Turning her gaze out the passenger window, Rose asked, “So, got anything planned later?”

A deep breath of relief rushed out from Becky’s lungs, evidently pleased at the change in subject. “Sort of. Picked up an extra shift tonight.”

“Well that’s no fun. Why the extra work?”

“Going to be heading up to Vermont for the weekend with my family. It’s like a traditional camping thing we do every year. But since we leave Friday morning and I didn’t want to use any vacation time, I’m making up the hours tonight.”

Rose pursed her lips. “So that means I get cruiser to myself Friday?”

Becky stifled a laugh. _“Sí,_ so try not to ruin it, ah?”

“Hey-” Rose shot mock glare back at her partner. “- I’ll have you know I didn’t hit anything when you were in the hospital, thank you very much.”

Before Becky could respond, the police radio sprang to life with the station’s dispatcher. “Possible 211 in progress at the old S.T.A.R. Labs warehouse, address 8294 Duster Street. Witness reported a masked individual entering through one of the windows, requesting nearest unit to please respond.”

Becky snatched up the radio speaker and pulled it to her lips. “Copy, dispatch, we’re on it. Be there in five.”

Rose frowned at the radio, as Becky turned the cruiser down a side street, headed deeper into the East District. “Someone breaking into a warehouse owned by S.T.A.R. Labs? Doesn’t sound good.”

“Maybe it’s the Blade finally poking her head up again, ah?” An eager glint came to Becky’s eyes. “She’s already stolen from S.T.A.R. Labs once before.”

Her frown deepened. “Somehow, I doubt that. She does only work at night, right?”

“True, true. In that case, let’s go find out for sure.”

* * *

Becky pulled the cruiser up to the front entrance of the warehouse and leaned out the window for a better look. “Nothing suspicious yet. Let’s check it out.”

Rose exited the car with a focused glare at the building. No sign of any workers outside, and no other vehicles parked to indicate there would be anyone inside either. Approaching the front door, she gave the handle a jiggle and pushed, but it didn’t budge. “Must be closed today.”

“Well, the call did say the possible suspect was seen entering a window, right? 

They took a few steps back and looked upward. The warehouse was a solid brick building, with no windows aside from a set on one side nearly fifteen feet above their heads. Judging from the way they were seated against the frames, they weren’t the kind meant to be opened, either. Rose followed Becky around the perimeter of the building—same deal on all sides, not a single point of entry the average person could conceivably utilize to enter.

Until they came to the back of the warehouse, where Rose noticed one of the windows had been shattered. Still well out of reach, but it was something. “There.” She pointed. “Maybe that’s how they got in?”

Becky squinted at the broken window. “What, did he fly up there?”

“I mean, given the world we live in, maybe.” Rose scanned the side of the building, noticing a gutter drain running from the roof to the ground within arm’s reach of the broken window. “Or maybe not.”

She stepped forward and gave the drain pipe a tug to test its strength. Seemed sturdy enough. Taking a firm hold, she planted a foot against the wall and hoisted herself upright into a steady climb. The solid brick of the building offered enough grip for her shoes to keep herself steady the whole way up, until finally she reached out to grab at the bottom of the broken window. 

Oy, be careful!” Becky called from below.

With a quick hoist of her arms, Rose pulled herself through the window. Poking her head back outside, she looked down and waved for her partner to follow. “Not just gonna stand there, are you?”

 _“Qué mierda…”_ Becky stared at the drain pipe with a raised eyebrow, shaking her head in disbelief. After a tentative moment of testing the drain’s strength herself and planting her foot into position against the wall, she heaved out a deep breath and struggled upward. “They did _not_ teach us this in training.”

Rose helped pull her through the window when she reached the top. They found themselves in a small, dimly lit office, empty save for a bare desk and chair in the corner. Making her way to the door, Rose pulled the flashlight from her belt and clicked it on. A quick sweep both ways down the hallway outside the office revealed nothing but quiet shadows. Becky followed, pulling out her own flashlight, and they both crept quietly down the corridor.

A set of stairs greeted them at the end of the hallway, leading downward. The stairs led into an open storage area with a high ceiling, lined with unmarked boxes and crates. A shipping and receiving area lay beyond, where a set of dormant forklifts sat, hooked up to charging stations. The only other lights aside from their flashlights were the dull green glow from those charging forklift batteries. Remaining silent, Rose waved Becky towards one side of the building, while she crept the other way, paying careful attention to every dark nook and cranny.

Ten minutes of searching later, Rose came around the corner of a stack of pressed cardboard to see Becky emerging from behind the compactor. She whispered, “See anything?”

“Thought I might have.” Becky paused, turning her gaze towards the shadows of the ceiling fifteen feet above their heads. Her flashlight beam scanned through the rafters and sprinkler pipes. “Probably just my imagination, though. I take it you didn’t find anything?”

“Not yet, but there’s plenty of places to keep looking.”

Becky nodded, lowering her flashlight. “Right, I’ll keep checking this area.”

As they began to go their separate ways, a white flash of precognition flickered through Rose’s mind. Turning on a dime, she threw herself at Becky and knocked her to the floor. “Get down!”

Half a second later, a pair of razor sharp throwing stars whistled through the air above their heads and embedded into one of the crates behind them with a wooden thunk.

“What the fuck was that!” Becky sat upright, swinging her flashlight around to catch a glimpse of whatever had attacked them.

Rose didn’t have time to respond. Another flash of precog forced her onto her feet. Using her flashlight as a makeshift weapon, she deflected another pair of incoming shuriken. The razor throwing stars pinged off the heavy mag light and bounced away to the floor. A shadowed figure lunged in after them, from over the top of one of the nearby pallets. Rose leaped backward to avoid the flying kick. Shifting her stance, she lashed out a vicious punch to the figure’s jaw. Knuckles cracked into bone. The figure spun off balance, only to quickly right itself and lunge again, this time drawing a sword from its back with a wild swing.

“Oh you motherfucker,” she grumbled, as she put distance between herself and the sword-wielding assailant. Sword versus flashlight was not a good matchup.

Light washed over them, as Becky pointed her flashlight at the combatants. _“¡Puta madre!_ I’m dreaming right? This is not happening!”

Evidently, it was. As the light illuminated them, Rose got a good glimpse at her attacker—an actual ninja. Or at least someone dressed like one, complete with black gi and mask. Judging from the way he fought, though? Yeah, an actual freaking ninja.

Too bad he didn’t know who he was fighting. Not only did Rose match the ninja step for step, she pulled ahead within seconds. In a blur of martial artistry, she deflected several of his attempted slashes and battered his arm, forcing the sword from his grasp with a clang as it clattered to the floor. She pressed harder, delivering a pair of knees to his chest and an elbow to his jaw. When he staggered, she whirled a kick into his chest. One more blow to the head, and he crumpled unconscious.

With a deep huff, Rose brushed her hands against the front of her police uniform. “Well, that was annoying.”

 _“Ay Dios mio…”_ Becky blinked, shining the light at her. “Sarah, what the hell was that?”

“Some doofus dressed as a ninja, from the looks of it,” she said, turning her own light on the unconscious ninja.

“No, that I got. But you were—and he was—where did you learn to _fight_ like that?”

“Oh, uh-” She paused, lightly rubbing at the back of her neck- “Ten years of Karate?”

Becky stared, a blank expression washing over her face. “Seriously? Karate?”

“I was really good at it?”

“Apparently.” Becky shook out of her stunned stupor and turned her light on the ninja. “So, we should probably check this guy for identification now. Right? Yeah.”

While Becky held her light above the man, Rose knelt down and pulled off his mask, revealing a square face with bushy brown hair and a small goatee. Sure as hell didn’t look like your average ninja, but then the entire point of one was to be low profile. With a curious frown, she dug her fingers into his pockets, searching for clues—since apparently standard ninja uniforms came with pockets.

“Well, what do you know?” she said, pulling out a wallet. Flipping open the wallet, she found the man’s driver’s license inside. “I guess ninjas carry around their personal identification with them.”

“And go running around in broad daylight,” Becky stated, with a raised brow. “What’s it say?”

“Jason Higgins, age thirty-five, lives over on Levitt Street.”

“Not the kind of guy you’d expect to be dressing like a ninja.”

“Or pulling off those kinds of moves.”

With a playful smirk, Becky nudged Rose with her elbow. “Maybe he took ten years of Karate too, ah?”

“Maybe.” Rose narrowed her gaze, as the glint of metal behind the man’s ear caught her attention. She turned his head and inspected closer. The device was round, no larger than her fingernail, and looked embedded into his flesh. Digging at it with her fingers, she gave it a tug. Nothing at first, but with a couple more good yanks, the device slid free—some kind of round node connected to a long, needle-like device that had punctured deep into the man’s skull. “Or maybe not.”

“The hell is that?” Becky said. “Was that—was it in his _brain?”_

Pin-pricks danced at the back of Rose’s neck, as another white flash pulsed through her mind. Grabbing Becky, she pulled the both of them back to the floor and rolled out of the way a second before more shuriken clattered where they’d been kneeling. Rose shifted herself back into a readied crouch, watching as two more men dressed like ninjas dropped down from the shadows.

Becky’s eyes bugged wide. “There’s _more?”_

Rose leaped back to her feet and took a defensive stance, prepared for attack. But nothing came. The new arrivals didn’t appear all that interested in the two cops standing a short distance away, instead making their way to the unconscious Jason Higgins. One of the ninjas leaned down to pick up the man, as well as the discarded needle-like device, while the other reached into a pouch at his waist.

“Alright, freeze!” Becky shouted, drawing her gun as she climbed back to her feet.

The ninja reaching into his pouch pulled out a small object and tossed it at their feet. Instinct drove Rose to pull Becky away, but the sinking in her gut over the unknown weaponry disappeared when a thick gray smoke cloud erupted around them. Not a bomb, at least. Rose shined her flashlight in an attempt to find the fleeing ninjas, but the beam only reflected back against the smoke and blinded her, forcing her to turn it off. When the smoke cloud cleared, the ninjas were gone.

Becky lowered her gun and gave Rose a puzzled glare. “So, do you want to fill out the report on this one, or should I?”

* * *

Seemed like only yesterday Rose had found herself standing in the same spot, staring at her display of Ravager gear on the hidden wall in her bedroom. She’d managed two solid months of freedom from this life, but here it was calling to her yet again. She could ignore it— _should_ ignore it—but that constant nagging in the back of her head wouldn’t let it go. 

Normal people didn’t run around the city dressed as ninjas and break into storage warehouses. Even if they did, they wouldn’t have the martial skill to back up their odd choice in cosplay. Which meant these guys weren’t normal. That wasn’t even including the strange device she’s found implanted in that man’s skull. Too much about that encounter didn’t make sense, and there was only so much she’d be able to find out during her normal day job. Reaching for the mask of her costume, she breathed a heavy sigh.

Sarah Walker wasn’t going to solve this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just when she thinks she's out, she gets pulled back in. In spite of the relative two months of freedom and happiness she's been enjoying since giving up her vigilantism, Rose finds herself drawn into it yet again, because sometimes there are just some supremely weird things going on that require a bit more of her personal touch. But what kind of ramifications will it have? Well, that remains to be seen, but knowing her luck it won't be great.


	28. Prelude of Shadow #2: Shao Shen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two months since the last time she suited up as Ravager, Rose investigates the strange appearance of ninjas in Silverstone, and a mysterious man who might bring her entire life to ruin.

The warehouse seemed to be a good place to start. Also, it was the only lead she had. Those ninjas had to have come there for a reason, but she and Becky had stopped them before they’d completed whatever they came to do. Or at least hopefully had. No telling what the other two had been doing while she had been taking care of Jason Higgins. With any luck, though, she might find a clue indicating what they were looking for. 

Ravager moved through the rows of stacked crates and boxes, closely examining each one. No labels from what she could tell. So far, nothing out of the ordinary—just a normal warehouse. But then nothing was ever that simple. Stopping in front of a random crate, she drew one of her swords and wedged the blade beneath the lid to pry it open.

Hoisting the lid upward, she looked inside. Just a bunch of random computer parts, certainly nothing nefarious. With a frown, she lowered the lid and moved on to the next crate. And the next. For the next half hour, she searched through the contents of every container she could find, but the most she found were bunches of scrap metal or spare parts. Granted, a place like S.T.A.R. Labs probably wouldn’t leave rare or dangerous equipment lying around in an unguarded warehouse, but what else would those ninjas have been here for?

As she turned into the shipping and receiving area, a flash of precognition flared, followed by the whistling of bolas spinning through the air behind her. She jumped upward into a standing back flip, allowing the bolas to sail harmlessly beneath her, where her knees would have been. When her feet landed, she spun around in a defensive stance, fists raised.

A man stood behind her, tall and lithe with long black hair tied back in a braided ponytail. He wore a Chinese Tang suit, white and black with the design of a dragon printed on the side. For the moment, he stood there silent and unmoving, staring at her.

Ravager narrowed a glare. “Hey, buddy, what are you doing?”

“Studying you,” he replied, with a thoughtful furrow of his brow.

“Right…” She paused, waiting for him to do something else. When he didn’t, she added, “Why, exactly?”

“Because-” He straightened his posture, hands clasped behind his back- “I like to learn about my opponents.”

Ravager kept up her guard, circling closer to the man. “And what does throwing a weapon at someone with her back turned tell you?”

“That the rumors are true.”

“Alright, you lost me. What rumors?”

“You are Silverstone’s protector, yes?” The man narrowed his eyes. “I believe they call you ‘The Blade’, at least before your sudden disappearance. Yet here you are now—intriguing.”

“That’s hardly a rumor.”

The man took several steps forward, his posture remaining rigid with hands behind his back. “I speak about the rumors of your skill. I thought them exaggerated, but already you’ve impressed me. You ‘see’ things, don’t you? Before they happen. That’s how you evade attacks you otherwise could not have known were coming.”

“Uh huh, real perceptive.” Ravager shifted her stance, now within ten feet of the man. “Now will you cut the bullshit and tell me who you are, and why you’re lurking around a warehouse in the middle of the night?”

“Ah, where are my manners?” He crossed one arm over his chest and bowed. “I am Shao Shen, and I am here to test a theory I have about you."

Oh, wonderful—another random fighter who wanted to test himself against her. First Lady Shiva, now this bozo. Did something about her attract this kind of crap? “Right, and you just happened to know where I'd be tonight?”

He straightened himself, returning his hands behind his back. “Suspected. Hoped, even. After learning of your earlier victory over one of our lesser members, I had a feeling you might return to investigate.”

Ravager’s heart sprang into her throat. “When you learned—you know who I am?”

“Relax, please.” Shao raised a hand to calm her, and shook his head. “I am no coward—I won’t go targeting your loved ones or any of that nonsense. Although your presence in this city could complicate things, I would defeat you in a fair fight.”

“Right, real reassuring. What are you waiting for, then?”

“To discuss the terms. Firstly, no weapons. I would do this strictly hand-to-hand.”

With a slow frown, she drew both her swords and tossed them to the floor. “Fine, anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” Shao shifted into a combat stance, turned sideways with one fist raised over his head, the other pointed straight forward. “When I win, I would have you leave this city, or at the very least give up your costumed identity for good.”

“First of all— _ when _ you win?” She scowled, sinking back into her stance. “And second—why the hell would I agree to that?”

“Because if you do not, I will simply kill you.”

“Fine, sure, whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

Ravager rushed in with a rapid flurry of strikes. The quicker she finished this guy off, the quicker she could grill him for questions and solve whatever mess he was involved in. Shao took a single step backwards and planted himself firm. His arms rotated, fluid like water, as he pushed aside each of her attacks. One after the other—every punch, every kick, every elbow and knee. Seemingly without effort, he guarded against her assault, all without moving his feet from the floor.,

With a stunned glare, Ravager stumbled backwards and repositioned herself. What the actual fuck? “Alright, so you’re pretty good.”

Shao’s feet turned, knees bent. “Allow me to show you  _ how  _ good.”

His body blurred as he darted forward. Ripples trailed in his wake—glimmering vestiges of his form that shimmered and undulated like some kind of trippy fever dream. Ravager’s precognition flashed. She turned to intercept the kick she knew was coming, but it wasn’t there. Or rather, it was _already_ there, connecting with her face. Stars and colors exploded through her vision, as she staggered off balance from the blow. Shao moved to her other side, his body still shimmering. Multiple copies of himself, transparent as though illusions but with all the substance of physicality, assailed her with a punishing combination of strikes.  _ Were  _ there multiple copies? Or was he just so damn fast he created his own after images?

When Ravager’s senses returned to her, she was blinking up from the floor, her head spinning. Every muscle in her body ached and screamed. She’d seen the attacks coming—known to defend—but by the time her body moved to react, they’d already struck her. So many blows. Dozens, maybe, in the span of a few seconds. This bastard—definitely a meta of some kind.

“I see my theory was correct,” Shao stated, as he stood over her with his hands clasped behind his back. “Seeing something before it happens does you no good if you cannot react in time to stop it. And your technical skill is sorely lacking. Perhaps If you were better trained, you’d have better honed reflexes to help, but alas. How disappointing.”

Ravager heaved a deep breath, forcing herself onto her hands and knees. Every movement sent fire screaming through her body. “Okay, so you're _really_ good. But I’m not done yet.”

“Actually-” His body blurred again, delivering an elbow with such explosive speed and force to the top of her skull not even her precog picked it up- “You are.”

Darkness exploded into her vision. With a weak grunt, she collapsed against the floor, and the world faded away.

* * *

Ravager awoke with a low grumble, thunder pounding in her skull. Blinking her eyes open, she shifted onto her elbows and gave a look around. Still in the warehouse, which meant Shao hadn’t decided to capture her or anything. Still alive, too. That was also a bonus. With another pained groan, she forced her way back to her feet. Felt like she’d been hit by a goddamn train. The room spun a moment, but she managed to shake everything back into focus.

Talk about embarrassing. That Shao Shen guy had picked her apart in seconds—barely even broke a sweat. And she couldn’t even use the excuse of him being a meta, since  _ she  _ was a meta too. But who the hell was he really, and what had he been doing there? Other than thoroughly humiliating her. Not going to find out now, in any case. Grumbling to herself, she limped over to her swords to retrieve them. 

As she sheathed the blades over her back, the sound of sirens faded in over the air. She snapped a look towards the windows above her—still night, but that only offered a clear glimpse of blue and red lights beginning to appear outside. Fuck! What the hell had Shao done, called the cops on her? She sprinted back towards the upper level of the warehouse and looked outside. No less than five police cars were in the process of pulling in front of the building. Well, that was one way to make sure she couldn’t continue patrolling the city.

Ravager darted around to the other side of the building and threw herself through one of the windows. Glass shattered in a cascading shower around her, as she hit the ground in a controlled roll. Jarring pain exploded through her shoulder but she kept going, leaping onto her motorcycle and gunning the engine. Time to get the hell out of here! 

As she tore around the corner of the warehouse towards the street, police officers who’d been exiting their cruisers shouted and scrambled to get back inside and pursue. She didn’t give them the chance, already halfway down the street by the time they were backing out. Sorry, guys—not catching her today. Turning onto the next street, a blockade of flashing red and blue lights forced her to screech to a sudden halt. A pair of squad cars blocked the road, with four officers stationed behind them with guns drawn. Alright, scratch that, new route!

With the roar of her engine, she turned the bike around and drove down an alley, coming out onto a main street filled with traffic. Other drivers honked furiously at the lunatic weaving around cars at almost a hundred miles per hour, but she didn’t give them a second thought. She could still hear the sound of sirens in the distance, desperate to catch up to her. Just had to lose them, even for a little bit. Just had to find a place to hide until things settled down.

She bolted up the on ramp onto the Silverstone overpass—wrong move, as three awaiting cop cars appeared from around a set of large yellow water barrels. Already waiting for her, expecting her to take the overpass? Damn it, should have gone with the tunnel. She revved the engine harder, pushing the speedometer up to one-fifty. Any faster and she’d probably lose control and crash, especially racing through traffic as she was. The good news was that her pursuers had no hope of catching her like this.

Then the spotlight hit her. Ravager glanced upward to see a police chopper hovering into view above her and keeping pace with ease. Her heart thumped, skipping a beat. She focused on the road. Motherfucker, they were really serious about this. Sure, she’d known she was high up on the city’s wanted list, but police chopper worthy? That was news. Really had her work cut out for her now.

Ravager made a sharp turn, heading down a ramp onto one of the city’s main streets, the city rushing past her in an unfocused blur. She didn’t get far, before she met another wall of flashing lights. She hit her brakes again and screeched away from the blockade. At the same time, the three cop cars from the overpass appeared on the ramp, peeling around the corner of the street to follow. Two of the cars lost control momentarily and collided with each other, coming to a sudden stop. Just the one car left to deal with for the moment.

Well, that and the chopper, which still managed to linger overhead with its spotlight following her. No matter what side street she turned onto, there it was, lighting up the path for all units to follow. Ravager pushed herself faster—well faster than she wanted to. If she didn’t start taking chances, she’d never get away. Peeling out onto another main street, she changed directions towards West End.

Another police blockade met her around the next corner. Shit, shit, too close—not enough time to turn! Veering away from the police cars, she turned the bike onto its side and let it slide out from underneath her, towards the chain link fence surrounding a construction site. The next thing she realized, she was airborne. The city whirled beneath her for an agonizing three seconds, before packed earth and gravel raced up to greet her. She turned her shoulder, tried to tuck and roll. Instead, she bounced, her body flailing into an uncontrolled spin across the ground.

When she finally came to a stop, she lay there unmoving, her fingers quivering against the dirt. Nothing in her body wanted to respond to her mental commands. Didn’t want to move. Just wanted to lie there and die. But she couldn’t. She had to move, had to get up. Had to get away before the police caught up. With a heaving groan, she swallowed a mouthful of pain and forced her way to her feet. The sound of sirens and officers shouting to each other grew closer. After teetering on her feet for several moments, she threw off her cracked and dented helmet, shook her vision clear, and hobbled deeper into the construction site.

Huh. Same construction site where she’d fought Lady Shiva a couple months ago, come to think of it. A lot more work had been done since then, but the layout was familiar. Wandering through the giant skeletal building, she made her way beyond piles of rubble and stacks of metal beams—anything to keep out of site. Plenty of shadows to take advantage of. Plenty of hiding places. If she could find a good spot to fall over and wait this out, maybe the cops would think she’d moved on somewhere else.

Ravager shoved her way into a mobile office and slammed the door shut behind her. Three steps inside, her knees collapsed out from underneath her. She fell against a chair, arms shuddering to hold herself up. When her arms gave out, she hit the floor. Alright, not getting much farther right now. A quick look around the office revealed a couple potted plants, a door leading to a closet maybe, and a cluttered desk with a solid front that concealed anything underneath or behind it. Perfect. 

She crawled her way to the other side of the desk and huddled beneath it, pulling the sturdy leather chair in close for extra measure. Then she waited. And waited. Voices appeared outside soon after, muffled to the point where she couldn’t make out the words. One of the voices veered off with a distant shout, while the other remained close by before disappearing entirely. Footsteps replaced the voice—boots against the metal steps outside, leading into the office.

Ravager closed her eye and held her breath, as the door opened. A flashlight beam swept above her head. It pointed at the wall behind her a moment before turning into another part of the office. The footsteps drew nearer, then continued on, deeper into the office. A pause, and they came back—slow, methodical. Keep moving. Just keep moving.

The sound of wood scraping across linoleum screeched through the office, as the desk shifted to the side. Ravager fell over, landing awkwardly on her elbow. When she looked up to the officer standing over her, her gaze was met with a blinding beam of light.

“Got you!” the officer shouted, her silhouette shifting with a draw of her gun. “Hands in the air, now!”

Ravager’s heart sank. No… oh, please no. She knew that voice. “Wait—”

The officer clicked on her shoulder radio, keeping the flashlight pointed forward. “This is Officer Chavez! I have—”

“Becky, wait!” Silence. The officer paused, slowly lowering the beam. With the light no longer blinding her, Ravager’s stomach twisted into knots. “Please.”

Becky released the radio, her eyes shifting with a puzzled glare. “How do you…?” Another pause. Her eyes flickered, focusing on the long white hair billowing out from beneath the mask. Recognition exploded into her gaze, and she dropped the flashlight. “No… Sarah?”

She reached up and removed her mask. No longer Ravager. No longer the Blade. Just Rose. Just Sarah. “Yeah, it’s me. Please, Beck. I could really use your help right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it had to happen at some point. Rose's secret is out, at least to one of her closest friends. Currently one of her closest friends. Who knows how this will effect things going forward, but chances are it's not going to be pretty. Rose has been worried for a while now that she was going to screw up and ruin the only good things she had going in her new life, and now it looks like that might be realized. Or who knows, maybe Becky will cool with being lied to by someone masquerading in a false identity she believes to be a criminal!
> 
> Or maybe not.
> 
> Won't be a new chapter until Monday though since I'm off to a wedding tomorrow, so chew on that for a while, whoever's reading this fic. I hope at least one person out there's enjoying it.


	29. Prelude of Shadow #3: Back To Square One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After hurting the person she cared most about by exposing her secret, Rose finds herself spiraling into a crisis of self doubt only reinforced by her past mistakes.

For nearly thirty full seconds, Rose and Becky stared at each other in silence. No words, no movement—nothing but unflinching and unblinking eye contact, radiating waves of tension between the two women. Rose swallowed, stifling a twinge of pain somewhere beneath her suit. Couldn’t focus on the pain right now. Becky’s mouth opened several times, floundering as though a fish on land in search of words. Nothing ever came, as the silence drew out.

A hiss of static from Becky’s radio ruptured the quiet, drawing both their attention. “Officer Chavez, can you repeat? Didn’t get all of it. Did you say you found something?”

Rose lurched straighter on the floor. “Becky, please...”

“Don’t,” she retorted, with a desperate shake of her head. “Don’t make me. I can’t—” Her words cut out with a choking gasp in her throat, a gross mix of sob and hiccup. Conflict tore across her face, her eyes flicking back and forth between Rose and the radio.

The radio sparked to life again. “Officer Chavez, you there?”

A quiver shuddered through Becky’s knees, as she fell into the office chair behind her. With one hand, she grabbed at her curly hair and raked her fingers through it. With the other, she lazily reached up to the radio on her shoulder and brought it to her mouth. “I’m here, I-” She paused, forcing her eyes shut. Tears leaked out and trickled down her cheeks- “Nothing, sorry. Just jumping at shadows. Gonna take another look around this area.”

“Alright, keep at it,” replied the officer over the radio. “If we don’t find anything here soon, we’ll spread out our search into the surrounding alleys and buildings. She can’t have gone far after a crash like that.”

Clicking the button on her radio again, she gave a weak “Copy that” and then slumped deeper into the chair.

Rose heaved a heavy sigh, letting her head fall back in relief. “Thanks.”

“Don’t, Sarah. Just don’t.” Becky’s tone fired back with a sharp bite to it. She opened her eyes again and shot a heated glare laced with anger, confusion, and hurt _._ “You—this whole time, it was _you?”_

A knot tightened in Rose’s throat. She’d never seen Becky angry before. Not like this, at least. Not that kind of pure, disbelieving rage—the look of a woman who’d just had a knife thrust into her back by a close friend. She managed a feeble nod, and said, “Yeah. It was me.”

Becky curled her lips and shook her head, her gaze wandering around the small office, as though an attempt to look anywhere else but at Rose. “How can you do it? How do you sit next to me every day— _lie_ to me every day—calling yourself a cop, and then go around every night breaking the law? Is this just a joke to you? Am _I_ a joke to you?”

“I—no! You’re not—” Rose fumbled for the right words, but her voice kept catching on the knot in her throat, squeaking and sputtering with uncertainty. “I’m—I was just—”

“You’re just what? Explain it to me, Sarah.” Becky’s gaze swung around to meet hers, locking their eyes together. “Because right now, _every_ fiber of my being is telling me to turn you in.”

“I just wanted to do good! That’s all I’ve ever wanted with my life.”

“Oh, and you do that by stealing? By hurting people? By driving like a lunatic and putting God knows how many lives in danger?” Becky’s arms folded across her chest, indignant. The angry tears blurred her eyes behind a wet cloud, but she blinked them away with a furious grumble. “You’re supposed to be a cop for Christ’s sake! We don’t do good enough already?”

“It’s not—it’s more complicated than that. There’s only so much I can do as a cop. Doing this gives me another outlet, another way to get things done. Another way to help people.”

 _“¡Puro cuento!_ All you’ve done is be a criminal! And more than that, this whole time you’ve been lying to me! About who you are, about being a cop, about being my _friend!_ Has _anything_ you’ve said been the truth?”

A knife lanced through Rose’s chest. She stuttered, her jaw quivering as she sat up on one knee. “I _never_ lied about being your friend! That’s true—that’s real. And I _am_ a cop. I just want to do everything I can for this city, and help people every way that I can. I know you might think it’s wrong, but what I do in this costume, behind this mask—I’m good at it. I’m _damn_ good at it. _Everything_ I’ve done has been to help people. People like Holly.”

Becky’s jaw tightened at the mention of Holly. She looked away again, hands gripping tight around her knees. In a brief relief of anger, her expression drooped, replaced by one of pained sorrow. She frowned, sniffling as another streak of tears ran down her face. “But you’ve still been lying to me, haven’t you? About who you are. About your entire life.” She sniffled again, and raised a weak gaze back at Rose. “Is your name even Sarah?”

“I…” Her response trailed into silence. That was enough. Becky took the hint and shrank against the chair, shaking her head. Another few moments of silence later, Rose closed her eye and said, “It’s—my name is Rose. Rose Wilson.”

The silence returned, heavier and more oppressive than ever. Becky stared at the floor the whole time, fingers tapping idly against her knees. When the silence drew out to a point where it threatened to shatter the inside of the office, she stood from her chair and trudged towards the door. “I have to go. I’ll lead them away from your location and come back when everything’s clear with a change of clothes for you. Just don’t ask me for anymore favors after this... _Rose.”_

* * *

Rose sat at her kitchen counter, staring into the cup of coffee in front of her. She’d brewed it as a way to clear her head. Or a way to soothe her nerves, perhaps. And yet she hadn’t touched it, in the entire two hours she’d been back at the penthouse. The longer stared, the more repulsed by it she became. 

The whole ride back to her apartment, Becky hadn’t said anything to her. Rose had tried several times to start a conversation. Tried to apologize, at least. But her words were met with silence. Couldn’t leave well enough alone, could she? Couldn’t stay out of her costume. Just had to put it back on and ruin the few good things she had going in her life. Exactly as she knew she would.

Rose stared at her reflection in the coffee. Her jaw tightened the longer she looked. Her stomach twisted. With a furious shout, she lashed her arm across the counter and launched the mug into the refrigerator. Glass shattered, spraying coffee over the kitchen. Rose sat there, heaving deep, rapid breaths as heat flushed into her cheeks. 

Gradually, she calmed. In a partial daze, she grabbed a sponge from the sink and mopped up the coffee from the floor and the refrigerator. From there, she moved on to picking up the broken shards of the mug. Not the smartest thing she could have done, while only half paying attention. As she went to retrieve one of the larger shards, a hot prick raked across her thumb, slicing open flesh with a warm trickle of blood.

“Fuck!” she shouted, recoiling her hand.

The cut didn’t so much hurt, as reminded her how careless she was. How utterly, irrevocably hopeless. The heat in her cheeks burned hotter, as she sat there sucking on her thumb. Couldn’t even pick up a broken coffee mug without slicing open her own hand. 

A gentle touch on her shoulder burst a surprised yelp from her throat. She recoiled, twisting herself around to see Holly standing there. The heat vanished, and she relaxed. “Oh, Holly. I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.”

Holly gave a drawn out yawn, her eyes drooping in half-sleep. With a few tired hand motions, she signed, _“Is something wrong?”_

“It’s—don’t worry about it. I just had a rough night, is all.”

_“Want to talk about it?”_

Rose bowed her head with a deep sigh. “I… Not now. Maybe later, but I just need to be alone right now. Go back to bed, alright? Sorry again for waking you.”

Holly sighed quietly and leaned in for a brief hug, before returning to her bedroom. Rose stayed there on the kitchen floor for another hour, lost in her misery. Just one screw up after another. 

Story of her goddamn life.

* * *

Rose wandered through Silverstone Central in full uniform, scanning through every group of officers she passed. Still no sign of Becky. She’d spent that whole morning fretting over what she’d say, having to sit in the same squad car all day. All morning going over the best way to apologize. The best way to salvage any sort of relationship, and keep Becky from hating her. The longer she spent trying to find her partner, the more her heart jittered.

Her frantic search came to a sudden halt when she collided with another officer, so absorbed in her own thoughts she hadn’t seen him. “Shit! Sorry, wasn’t paying attention.”

Officer Stevens took a step back and looked down at himself, the remains of his morning coffee spilled down the front of his uniform. The foam cup he clutched in one hand had burst, leaking from the ruptured seams. “Oh, uh, no worries. I’ll just…” Removing a couple napkins from the paper bag he carried in his other hand, he dabbed at the hot liquid soaked into his shirt. “There, that’s… Well, it’s something.”

“Sorry again, really,” she muttered, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. “I’m a little distracted this morning.”

“Oh, about Rebecca?”

Rose blinked. “What?”

Stevens cocked a brow, pausing momentarily. “You didn’t hear? She called in sick this morning, guess she came down with something pretty serious. Was in the hospital last night to get checked out. Captain told her to take the rest of the week off.”

The taste of numb metal spread through her throat. “Oh. I… I hope she’s alright.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” said Stevens. “First she gets shot, now this? She’s been having a rough few months.”

“She really has.” Rose gave a vacant nod, as she began a slow trudge away from Officer Stevens. “Thanks for telling me. I have to go.”

Before Stevens could say anything else, she quickened her pace until she’d made it outside. No Becky meant she’d be on her own today. Alone in the squad card. Alone with her own thoughts. Her own misery. Should have seen it coming. Rose wouldn’t want to see herself either, if she were in Becky’s position. She’d only gone and ruined their friendship, after all.

* * *

Later that night, Rose paced around the penthouse with her phone pressed to her ear. Another ten rings, and once again back to voice mail. Same as the last ten times she’d called. She’d spent the better part of the night trying to reach Becky with no luck. Not like it was a surprise, and yet she couldn’t bring herself to stop calling, no matter how desperate it made her look. 

Or how stupid. She’d lied to Becky. Betrayed her trust. No matter how many times she called, Becky wasn’t going to pick up. Still, she kept calling. Fifteen times. Twenty times. Thirty. By the time she lost the motivation to hit the call button another time, she’d fallen onto the sitting room couch with her face buried into a pillow in attempts to stifle her tears. Of all the fucking things to cry over.

Holly, who had been sitting on the other side of the couch watching television, tugged on her arm. When Rose finally lifted her face out of the pillow, she signed, _“I’m sorry about Becky.”_

Rose shook her head, letting her head sink back against the pillow. “It’s my own stupid fault. I’m the one who screwed things up.”

_“I hope she answers soon.”_

“I know, Holly. But I don’t think she’s going to.” With a weak sigh, she rolled off the couch and stood up, wiping her eye dry. “You keep watching TV for a while, alright? I’ll be in my room if you need anything.”

Rose made her way into her bedroom and collapsed into the seat in front of her desk. For five quiet minutes, she stared at the blank computer screen. Her reflection stared back, and when she couldn’t stand the sight of herself anymore she turned on the computer. Another five minutes of staring, and she pulled up her video conferencing software to make a different sort of call—not to Becky, but to another penthouse some 300 miles away in Gotham City. Please, let him be there.

Several minutes later, Dick Grayson’s face appeared on the screen, standing in front of his desk. “Rose?”

“Hey,” she said, with a weak wave. “Glad I caught you before you went out.”

He narrowed a curious gaze at her. “Is something wrong? You normally just call my phone.”

She gave a shrug. “Dunno, guess I just felt like talking face to face this time.”

“I take it you didn’t call to chat about the weather. What happened?”

She paused a moment, shaking her head. When the tears started again, she rubbed at her eye and sat up straighter. “I really fucked up.”

Dick’s brow lifted momentarily, as he lowered himself into the chair in front of the desk. “Start from the beginning.”

She told him everything—about her encounter with the mysterious man in the warehouse, about her run from the police, and about Becky discovering her secret. And of course, Becky avoiding her afterward. The more she explained, the more her mood soured. Something about recounting her own stupidity had a real way of twisting her stomach into knots to the point of wanting to puke.

“And now,” she continued, with an unknowing wave of her hand, “I don’t know what the hell to do anymore. Becky doesn’t want to talk to me, and I can barely stomach sitting in that squad car alone. I mean, she was right. Who am I kidding? I'm no cop, never was. I'm just a freak in a costume doing whatever I want, and I'm not sure if I can even be that anymore.”

“Rose,” Dick said, leaning closer to the screen, “the most important thing you have to remember is that you’ve always tried to do good. You might have different ways of going about it, but it's part of who you are. You want to help people, and you do.”

“But what's the point in doing good if you just end up hurting everyone around you? You didn't see the look she had when she found out who I was.” Rose clenched her jaw, flinching at the memory of betrayal in Becky’s eyes. “I’ve hurt a lot of people in my life, but never like that. Never that _deep_. I had a good thing going here, Dick. A good _life_. But then I went and ruined it, all because I couldn't keep the costume off.”

Dick sighed, nodding in understanding. “It’s become a part of you—the costume, the crime fighting, the need to help people. We do this for so long, and that's what happens. Our other identities become a part of us, and we can't let it go.”

Rose sank into her seat with a groan. “How do you do it? I mean, how have you kept it up for so long without going insane?”

“Years of practice, mostly,” he said, with a shrug. “I've been doing this since I was kid, after all.”

“Wow, thank you for your infinite wisdom.”

“I'm being serious, Rose.” His expression grew stern. “I don't just mean physical practice. It's a lot of mental practice, too. The kind of life we live—it's difficult, stressful, not to mention dangerous.”

“And pretty much guarantees you no social life.”

“A lot of times, yeah. But sometimes you find something, or someone, special that makes it worth it.”

“But how on earth are you supposed to keep that something special without screwing it up?” Rose leaned her head back, hands grasping at her hair. “I had that, and now it's gone.”

“It takes a lot of care and a little luck to make your regular life work alongside your secret one,” he explained. “Sharing that secret with someone you trust can be a big help. Gives you someone to talk to. Plus, it also helps to be on good terms with the local authorities.”

Rose scoffed out a laugh. “Little late for that.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you can still fix things.”

“Dick, let's face it, I'm not really cut out for this.”

Dick furrowed his brow. “What are you talking about? You're good at what you do, Rose. We've been over this.”

“No, not that.” Rose raised her hands, gesturing around the room. “I mean _this_. The normal life, the secret identity, the lying, all of it. I was never meant to be a happy person.” 

“You know that’s not true.”

She dropped her hands with a huff. “I feel like I don't even know who I am anymore. Like I'm all the way back to square one.”

Dick paused, tapping his fingers against the desk. “You still have Holly, right? You're doing a good job with her.”

“Save the pep talk,” she said, shaking her head. “I know I'm not exactly the best person in the world to look after a kid. Hell, I leave her alone every night with nothing but a suped up security system keeping her safe, while I go and get myself shot at. Social services would have a field day with that.”

“You still cared enough to look after her, and give her a home. A lot of people would have let her go back into the foster system, but you stepped up. What's that say?”

“Either I have a soft spot for kids, or I like getting in over my head. Maybe both, I don't know.” She leaned forward again, resting her elbows on the desk. “I just—I don’t think I can do this anymore, Dick. I'm not sure I even know how.”

Dick gave a slow nod. “Look, I can tell you're in a rough spot right now.”

“Gee, what tipped you off?”

“I may not be able to help you get past what you're going through, or make you gain some kind of sudden clarity on what you should do, or how to live your life, but I do know someone who went through something similar a while back. Or rather, Cass does.” He took a deep breath, leaning back against his seat. “It might be an extreme way to go, but if you’re going through that much of a crisis right now, I can ask Cass, see if her friend is willing to do a favor. She has connections to someone who might be able to help you get your head on straight.”

“So you know someone, who knows someone, who knows someone who might be able to help me?” She snorted out a disbelieving laugh. "Figures. But what the hell? Worth a shot, I guess. Even if I don't think it'll help.”

“Before you agree, I should mention you'll have to travel. You could be gone a while. That is, if she even agrees to it.”

Rose sat up straighter in her seat, staring back at Dick on the screen. Traveling meant leaving behind Silverstone City. It meant leaving behind her job as a cop, leaving behind Holly. And leaving behind Becky. But at this point, what would she be losing? She’d already screwed up things with Becky, she could barely stomach being a cop anymore, and Holly… Well, Holly would probably be better off without her. Heck, the whole city would be.

“Yeah, sure, whatever,” she said, with a shrug. “Not a lot left for me here anyway, is there?”

Dick nodded. “If that's what you want, then I'll have Cass make the call and get back to you.”

“Oh, and one more favor?” 

“What is it?”

“Could you watch Holly? At least while I'm gone? She deserves someone nice looking after her.”

Dick smiled. “I’d be happy to. Alfred’s great with kids, anyway. Plus, she and Damian are basically in the same age range.

Rose scoffed. “Right, I'm sure they'll get along great.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof, that was a rough one to write. Even though it was a rewrite of something I've already written before, I felt like Becky's pain was clearer this time around. She feels betrayed by Rose, who has been lying to her about almost everything, including her name, and that kind of betrayal is going to hurt. A lot. Rose, meanwhile, has only confirmed her own worst fears, in that she screwed up everything good in her life because that's what she does. She makes mistakes, screws up, and finds herself a wreck once again. As she put it, she doesn't believe she's meant to be happy, which is putting her in a bad place. 
> 
> While accepting an offer to travel to an unknown location with the unknown friend of a friend to try and gain clarity in her life might be an extreme overreaction for most normal people, for Rose it's the only thing that makes sense for her to do. She needs to get away from things, needs to figure out what's important to her, and needs to hopefully come to terms with what she actually wants out of her life. She thought she knew what that was, but as we've seen, all that inevitably fell to pieces around her. Sometimes, the extreme is necessary.


	30. Prelude of Shadow #4: Welcome To Nanda Parbat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After tying up the last few loose ends of her former life, Rose journeys to a far off land with a new acquaintance, all in hopes of figuring out what to do with her life now.

Rose gave a light knock on the door and waited, staring at the closed blinds on the window. There came a pause, followed by the low, smooth voice of her police captain telling her to enter. She exhaled, steeled herself, and strolled into the office. Without needing to be told, she closed the door behind her, then sat on the chair in front of the desk.

Captain Palmer stared at her. He leaned casually against the back of his seat, one hand raised with his fist clenching and unclenching around a stress ball. “Officer Walker. How can I help you?”

“I, uh—I just wanted to give you this.” She leaned forward and set down a sheet of paper on the desk. The captain narrowed his eyes at it a moment, before reaching out to take it. “It’s my formal resignation.”

He replied with a low grunt, followed by, “I can read, Walker.” He paused, his eyes scanning across the form. When he finished reading, he stopped clenching the stress ball and set it on the desk. “I must say, this is unexpected. I know you’re new, but you’re a damn good cop from what I’ve heard. Diligent, ambitious, always out to do the right thing, and you never complain about your paperwork. Why the sudden resignation?”

Rose swallowed, giving a slow nod. “I just have some things going on in my life right now, and I can’t—I need to figure them out. My head is all over the place, and I don’t think I can devote myself to this job the way you deserve. So rather than try to phone it in, I’m going to step away.”

“I see.” Palmer grabbed the stress ball again and gave it a firm squeeze. “I appreciate that kind of forethought. Honestly, being able to recognize that about yourself says a lot. You may be young, but you have wisdom. Certainly more than most other people your age.”

She gave another nod. “Thank you, Sir.”

“I won’t say I won’t be sorry to see you go, though. Like I said, you’re a good cop. Always a shame when we lose one of those.” He squeezed the stress ball a few more times and set it down again. “And I know Officer Chavez will miss you too. She always did speak highly of you.”

A guilty knife stabbed through her chest, causing her to wince. If only he knew. “Sure, yeah. I’ll miss her too.”

Captain Palmer shifted in his seat, pushing away from his desk so he could stand. Straightening to his full height—a good six or so inches taller than her—he extended his hand. “It’s been a pleasure, Walker. Just know that if you ever decide to come back, there’ll be a position waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She reached forward and shook her captain’s hand. The grip was firm, powerful. “I’ll be sure to let you know if anything changes.”

With one more parting nod, Rose turned and left the office.

* * *

Rose sat in her car, staring at her phone in her hand. She hadn’t called Becky for several days now, for obvious reasons. So, did she try one more time? Probably the last chance she’d have for a while. Or she could just vanish without a trace, without a word. Wasn’t like Becky would answer, anyway. She spent another five minutes boring a hole through the phone with her gaze before dialing the number. Five Rings. Ten rings. Voice mail.

“Heya, you've reached Becky, I'm not available right now,” the prerecorded message stated. “Just leave a message, and I'll get back to you as soon as I can. _¡Gracias!”_

_Beep._

About as much as she expected. Rose hissed a sigh and went to pull the phone away, like she had every time before. A sudden tug on her heart made her pause. Every time she’d called before, she’d hung up as soon as the voice mail recording played. But she’d never actually left a message. Wasn’t like Becky wanted to hear her voice, right? But this time, something compelled her to stay on the line. The tug on her heart twisted, and knotted, and before she realized what she was doing she was talking into the phone.

“Hey, Becky. It's Sarah—I mean, Rose. It’s Rose. I know you haven't been around lately, and you haven't wanted to talk to me, but that's okay, I get it.” She paused, chewing on the inside of her cheeks while searching for the right words to say. “Look, I'm sorry about everything, alright? I never wanted to betray you, or hurt you, or lie to you. I just—I screwed up. Maybe I should have told you about it sooner, or I should have just stopped altogether, I don't know. Either way, I want you to know that I'll always consider you a friend, no matter what else happens. Even if you never speak to me again, that's fine. But I want to thank you. For everything you did for me, just being my friend—thank you. That's not something I say to a lot of people, but you deserve it.”

She paused again, uttering a shuddering breath to steady her nerves. Each new word she spoke, the jittering in her gut grew stronger. “So, listen, I’m—I need to figure some things out for myself, try to get my life straight after I went and messed it up. I'm leaving soon. Tomorrow, actually. Not really sure where yet, but I'll find out eventually. I... I could be gone for a while. Weeks, maybe months, don't really know. Maybe for good. I've already gone and handed in my resignation at the station, so no worries there. You won’t have to worry about seeing me.”

Another pause. A hundred different possible words ran through her head, each one fluttering out of reach before she could think to say them. With a frustrated groan, she slouched in her seat, curling her knees up to her chest. “Shit, what else am I supposed to say? I'm not very good at this kind of thing, you know. I just—again, I'm sorry. I wish I had a chance to explain things to you face to face before I leave, but I know that’s not possible. So, yeah. Goodbye, Becky. And take care, you hear me? You—you really do deserve the best.”

* * *

Rose took in a deep breath, staring up at the looming Wayne Tower in front of her. Long time since she’d been back here, and yet the memory burned clear as day in her mind. The first time, she’d gone and fucked up things with the Titans. Now, she’d gone and fucked up things again in Silverstone. Seemed like whenever she screwed up, she found her way back here, hoping for Dick to fix things for her. How pathetic could she be?

“Well, this is the place,” she said, with a light sigh.

Holly, standing next to her, looked up and signed, _“Do I really have to stay here?”_

Rose flinched, returning the look with her own empty stare. “I know you don't want to. If I could take you with me, I would, but I don't even know where I'm going yet.”

Holly pouted. _“Can’t you stay?”_

 _Damn it_. If anyone could make her reconsider her plans, it was this girl. This sweet, innocent, wonderful girl who deserved so much better than anything Rose could give her.

With a deep sigh, Rose knelt down in front of Holly at eye level, and put her hands on the girl’s shoulders. “I want to. I do. But my head is all over the place right now. After everything that happened with Becky, I don't know what direction my life is going in. Kind of soon for me to be having a midlife crisis, but I guess you could call it that. Maybe I'm just stressed, I don't know, but apparently this mystery guy can help me, or something, so I'm going to give it a try. One thing to remember, though: I will come back. I promise you that.”

Holly’s gaze grew distant, sad. Raising her hands again, she signed, _“How long will you be gone?”_

“I don't know. I hope not that long, but it could be a few months. Maybe longer. If I'm not back by the end of the summer, my friend here will get you into Gotham Academy come September. It's a good school, really. You'll learn a lot.”

Holly’s pout deepened, tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. _“It won't be the same.”_

“I know. I’m sorry, Holly.” Rose clenched her teeth again, fighting the quivering in her jaw. “I promise I'll find a way to make it up to you, alright?”

She replied with a weak, haphazard signing of, _“I guess...”_

With a deep sigh, Rose took Holly’s hand and led the way inside the building. “Come on, let's go meet my friend you'll be staying with. You’ll like him, I promise.”

* * *

The door to Dick Grayon’s penthouse opened no later than five seconds after Rose had knocked. She still had her fist partially raised when Dick’s face appeared in the doorway, greeting her with a welcoming smile. Almost like he’d been standing by the door waiting for her, and she couldn’t figure out if that was weird or just being a good host.

“Hey,” he said, with a wave. “Come on in. We’ve been waiting”

Rose cocked an eyebrow, following him inside. “‘We?’”

A small group of people were there to greet them, as they made their way into the sitting room. The first she recognized immediately, of course. Cassandra Cain sat on the arm of a couch, offering a smile and wave as they entered. Holly brightened when she saw Cass, immediately signing a hello. Cassandra responded in kind. Made sense that she’d be there, considering it was her contact who would be taking Rose to wherever she was going.

The second individual she didn’t recognize—a thin old man, balding with a crop of dark hair around the sides of his head, and a narrow mustache. He wore a clean pressed black suit with matching bow tie, and bore a welcoming smile.

The last person, Rose recognized after half a second of staring. The kid had grown a bit since she last saw him, maybe a few inches taller now with slightly more muscle than before. He still wore the same smug expression he usually did though, framed by head of neatly combed dark hair—Damian Wayne, the current Robin. Had to be fourteen or so by now.

“Well, if it isn’t the cyclops herself,” Damian said, puffing out his chest with a smug smirk. “Come to grovel for our help, I hear?”

Rose glared. “Better a cyclops than a baby bird. Pretty sure cyclopes eat birds.”

“Psh, at least birds have depth perception.”

They stared at each other a few moments longer, before both breaking out into friendly grins. She raised one of her fists, and he did the same, giving her a fist bump. Same old Damian—hadn’t changed one bit, a fact that was oddly comforting.

Turning to the old man, Rose said, “Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure. You are…?”

“Alfred Pennyworth,” he stated, in a clear English accent. “Long time friend and butler of the, erm, Bat Family, as it were. At your service, Miss Rose.”

“Huh, so being Batman comes with its own turndown service, huh? Not bad.”

Dick gave a groaning chuckle, as he folded his arms across his chest. “I trust the trip into Gotham went alright?

Rose shrugged. “About as alright as four and a half hours in a car can be. Nothing special.”

Turning to Holly, Dick took a knee in front of her and offered a friendly nod. “Good to see you, too, Holly. My name’s Dick. I’ve heard a lot about you, you know. Rose tells me you’re a good kid.”

Holly smiled, holding out her hand to shake.

Dick shook her hand and stood up again, gesturing around at the others. “You’ve already met Cass, I think. But this is Alfred, as he already said. He’s a good friend.”

Alfred lowered into a formal bow. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss... Holly, was it?”

Holly nodded in affirmation, eagerly shaking the older gentleman's hand.

“Might I get you anything to eat?” Alfred asked. “Or perhaps you'd like a drink? You must be famished after such a long car ride.”

Holly lit up with a delighted grin at the mention of food, immediately going through a rapid series of hand signs.

Lifting an eyebrow, Alfred watched her hands carefully. “Oh dear, my American Sign Language is a bit rusty, but I do believe you said you wanted a peanut butter and jelly sandwich? And a glass of milk.”

She nodded, her grin growing wider.

“Very good,” Alfred said. “I shall prepare it at once.”

As Alfred headed into the kitchen, Dick looked over to Damian. “And this is Damian, my brother. Damian, say hi.”

Damian remained silent, narrowing a curious gaze at the younger girl. Holly stepped forward with a smile, signing off a greeting. He stared back at her, his brow furrowing with confusion.

“I have no idea what she just said,” Damian muttered. “What did she say?”

“She said it's nice to meet you,” Rose informed, with a stern glare. “And you'll say the same, if you know what's good for you, twerp.”

Damian leaned a little closer, studying Holly with a careful gaze. Then, he poked a finger against her forehead. “So why can't she talk? There isn't anything wrong with her, is there?”

Before anyone could answer his question, Holly's hand shot upward, grabbed his finger, and twisted it around while pushing forward. Damian recoiled with a yelp, desperately trying to yank his finger away from her grip.

“Ow! What the hell!” With a frustrated grunt, he managed to pull free of the hold, promptly shaking his finger back and forth in pain. “Why didn't anyone tell me she could do that!”

“Shouldn't have let your guard down,” Dick said, fighting to hold back a laugh.

Rose smirked, and held out her palm. “Just like I taught you.”

Holly grinned, returning a vigorous high five.

“This isn't over,” Damian grumbled, giving Holly an intense glare. He marched away from her and plopped down on the couch, arms folded.

Dick rolled his eyes with a sigh and followed. “I’ll talk to him.

Alfred returned a few minutes later, carrying a tray of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Holly ran over with an eager grin, snatching one of the sandwiches off the tray and taking a big, peanut buttery bite. Keeping an eye on Holly, Rose wandered over to where Cass was sitting and offered a half smile.

“Hey.”

Cass smiled. “Hi.”

“So, this friend of yours I'm meeting-” She gave a curious stare- “She really knows someone who can help me straighten my head out?”

“She should,” Cass said, with a nod. “Told me about him once. This crisis you’re having—she went through something similar. Her friend helped sort out her life. Maybe he can do the same for you.”

Rose offered a low mutter. “Well, here’s hoping. Where’d you meet this person, anyway?”

“Work with her. She’s a good person, too. I think you’ll like her.”

“More worried about her liking me.” Rose chuckled, leaning back against the couch. “Not that it really matters, I guess. Thanks, though. For getting your friend to help me out. I owe you one.”

“Don’t owe me anything.” Cassandra’s smile widened. “We’re friends. Always happy to help.”

“Seems like you help me out way more than I deserve. But yeah. Thanks.”

After a few quiet moments of watching Holly eat her sandwiches, Dick approached with a nod. “She’ll be waiting for you at Gotham International, by the way. “I've taken the liberty of preparing a private jet for you. Oh, and here, you'll be needing this.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small blue booklet, and handed it to her.

Rose frowned, flipping it open to find a picture of herself staring back, along with a bunch of personal information. “A passport? Where the hell are you sending me?

“You’ll see soon enough.”

“Right,” she muttered, flipping the passport. “Better not be somewhere cold.”

The grin that crawled its way across Dick’s face sucked the breath out of Rose with a despondent deadpan. Fucking lovely. She hated the cold.

“Should probably say your goodbyes, in any case,” Dick said, with a nod towards Holly.

Rose sighed, bowing her head. “Yeah. Before I go and change my mind.”

With a deep breath, she made her way into the kitchen, grabbing Holly's attention with a wave. Holly looked over and smiled, the corners of her mouth smeared with remnants of peanut butter and jelly. Alfred offered a couple napkins, which she took and wiped her mouth clean. Rose stifled a laugh under her breath. 

“I, uh… I have to go now, Holly,” she said, with a meager nod. She searched for more words, but nothing came. Every time she opened her mouth, empty air filtered out. For all she knew, this was the last time she’d see Holly for a good long time. Or ever. So, why couldn't she think of the right thing to say?

Holly broke the growing silence in her own way, with a smile and a single hand sign. When Rose saw the sign, the knot that had been forming in her throat tightened and exploded, eliciting a gross hiccup from her throat. Reaching out, she wrapped her arms around Holly in a warm embrace.

“I love you, too, Holly.”

* * *

Rose squinted across the tarmac, holding an arm in front of her face to block the beating sun from her vision. Didn’t help that it was about thirty degrees hotter on the sun soaked pavement of Gotham International Airport than anywhere else. Dick could have had the jet hooked up to a terminal, but no, he had to be all secretive and force her into a death march across the boiling tarmac so she could cook to death.

Hoisting her large duffel bag higher on her shoulder, she trudged towards the jet in the distance. By the time she reached it, sweat poured off her brow. She heaved with deep, labored breaths, desperate for air. Probably should have left the leather jacket at home. With an exhausted groan, she climbed the plane's lowered steps and ducked inside. The steps raised behind her, sealing shut flush against the wall. 

Sweet, sweet relief awaited within, as the cool rush of air conditioning blasted her face. The interior of the jet itself was decked out to the point where it looked more like an expensive apartment than a plane—plush leather seats, an open bar, spacious lounge area, and an enormous television screen seated against one of the walls. Nothing like a cramped, stifling commercial flight.

“You must be Rose.”

Rose blinked a few times to adjust her vision to the dimmer interior. Glancing to her left, she noticed sitting on one of the leather lounge chairs a tawny skinned woman with a short bob of brown hair, wearing a light tank top and a blue fedora. The woman gave a nod, then gulped at the bottle of root beer in her grasp.

“And you're Renee, right?” Rose said. “Renee... Montana or something?”

“Montoya. Drink?” Renee reached into a small mini fridge next to her seat and pulled out a cold soda.

Rose cocked an eyebrow, taking the bottle and plopping herself down on the nearby seat. A padded, leather, oh so comfortable seat. “Don't mind if I do.”

“So, I’m told you're going through a tough time.”

“Guess you could say that,” Rose muttered, with an idle shrug. “Most of the good things in my life sort of went and collapsed around me.”

“And now you don't know what to do, who you are, or where you belong?”

“Something like that. I'm told that you went through something similar.”

Renee hummed softly, taking another swig of her soda. “That was a long time ago. But yes, I did.”

“And this mystery friend of yours can help?”

“If you let him.” Renee leaned closer, her gaze intensifying with knowing experience. “He helped me figure out who I was, who I wanted to be, and I've been on that path ever since. He was my teacher, in more ways than one.”

“Well, this teacher of yours, where's he live?” Rose glanced curiously out of one of the plane windows. “I mean, where are we going?"

“Ah-” Smirking slightly, Renee lifted her drink back to her lips- “Now that's the question, isn't it?”

* * *

Rose pulled the heavy jacket tighter around herself. Normally, she could handle the cold just fine. Hell, she even knew a few breathing techniques to help regulate her body temperature. But this—this was a different kind of cold, the kind that could flash freeze hell with plenty left over to cool down the sun. Then again, when you're in the middle of nowhere in the fucking Himalayan Mountains, that was probably to be expected.

Exhaling a shuddering breath, she watched the frozen cloud of air escape her lips. The shudder brought out a cough, which turned to fits. When she stifled the coughing, she quickened her pace, trudging through the snow to keep pace with Renee. Fuck, she hated the cold. And snow. She hated snow. 

“Better hurry, I'm pretty close to leaving you behind,” Renee said, looking back over her shoulder. Her face was barely visible, beneath the thick, fur-lined hood of her winter coat.

“I'm c-c-coming,” Rose stuttered, barely able to speak through her near frozen lips. “H-hold your h-horses.”

Of all the places to send her, it had to be the fucking Mountains of Tibet. Damn you, Grayson. Just damn you.

Marching up a snowy embankment, Renee focused her eyes on the high tech GPS tracking device in her palm. She turned it, gave it a close squint, and altered her course accordingly. “This way.”

“We almost there?” Rose asked, tripping over a deep snow drift. “I can't f-feel my t-t-toes.”

“If you don't have patience now,” Renee said, with a raised eyebrow, “then this is going to be a very long experience for you.”

“B-bite me.”

Their incessant trek through the snowy mountains continued for another couple of hours. By that time, Rose couldn’t feel her feet anymore. Probably frostbitten. Fuck, this trip would so not be worth having her feet amputated over. The last time that she’d been this cold and miserable, she’d spent five minutes holding her breath beneath a frozen pond. Right now, she’d take that over this frozen hell any day.

Finally, they turned the corner of a rocky outcropping and were greeted by a miraculous sight. Rose’s frozen breath left her lungs in a rush when she saw the walled city tucked between a pair of mountains. The walls snaked across rocky inclines, forming a sort of basin beyond, where multi-tiered buildings towered in the distance.

Rose felt her mouth hang agape. “This is where your friend lives?” 

Renee nodded. “It is.”

“It's—I mean—Wow.” Rose floundered, at a loss for words to describe the inescapable majesty of the city before her. Something about it exuded a wave of calming peace, drawing out all the pain and turmoil that had been building in her soul over the past couple weeks.

“Yeah, that was my reaction the first time too.” Renee smirked, trudging through the snow to the front gates of the city. “Welcome to Nanda Parbat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so Rose begins the next chapter in her life, in a strange place s overy far from home: The mystical Nanda Parbat. Those of you who know anything about this location in the DCU, its history, as well as Renee Montoya's experiences there, you might be able to take a guess at what's in store for Rose. And if you don't have any idea, well just sit back and watch it all unfold.


	31. Prelude of Shadow #5: Enter The Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose meets with Renee's friend and teacher, a man who's meant to help her discover what she truly wants out of her life. Back in Silverstone, Becky stumbles into something that might be way over her head.

Nanda Parbat—a place of healing and enlightenment, watched over by the goddess Rama Kushna. At least, according to Renee. The inhabitants of the mystical city were mostly comprised of monks in service of Rama Kushna, although other residents had come from all over the world seeking peace and tranquility. Rose found it a strange place, yet oddly soothing at the same time. She’d been skeptical of this trip from the start, but now? This was a place she might actually find some kind of clarity.

During the first hour after arrival, she and Renee spent their time getting situated in the city. The living quarters were small and simple—nothing more than a single square room with bare furnishings, including a small bed, a desk, a few baskets, some base kitchenware, and an old fashioned wood stove. The buildings themselves were built mostly from stone, with sloped roofs covered in large clay tiles. No electricity, either, from what she could tell. The only lights came from candles or lamps. There were no phones, either. No radios, no televisions, no computers, no distractions. And the baths? Little more than wash basins manually filled with water.

Rose dropped her duffel bag onto the bed of the tiny room. Not much to see. This place contained the barest of amenities—great for cutting yourself off from your previous life, terrible for keeping yourself entertained. With a deep sigh, she sat on the edge of the bed and let her head fall into her hands. Hopefully, this whole trip would be worth it. Traveling halfway across the world and isolating herself in a mystical mountain city looked great on paper, but it would mean jack shit if it couldn’t help her.

She left the room a few minutes later, heading back outside. Though still wearing her heavy coat, she left it unzipped, allowing the cool air to envelop her. She could even feel her toes again, and her breaths only expelled the faintest of visible clouds. Chilly, sure, but the frigid, biting cold she’d experienced on the trek through the mountains had vanished, as though Nanda Parbat existed in its own little world.

Renee came around the corner of a small hut and gave a silent wave, motioning for her to follow. Rose obeyed, hurrying after the woman. She said nothing. Words hardly seemed to have meaning right now, and she already knew where they were going. Time to meet the mystery man.

They approached a small snowy field near the back end of the city, behind a grouping of buildings and beneath the shadow of a temple situated high upon a rocky precipice overlooking the rest of Nanda Parbat. The space was completely empty, save for a single rock in the center of the field, on which a man dressed in nothing but a tight T-shirt and long pants sat cross-legged with his eyes closed and fingers pressed together. He was an older man, maybe in his forties, but was in remarkable shape, his body comprised of lean, hard muscle. Thick auburn hair flowed atop his head like a mane, framed with a bushy beard that gave him the appearance of a lion.

As the two approach, the man opened his eyes. “It's good to see you again, Renee. How have you been?”

“About as good as I can be.” Renee smiled, offering the man a wave. “It's good to see you, too.”

“Glad to hear it.” The man jumped off the rock to his feet. He gave Renee a firm handshake before turning to look at Rose. “And who’s this?”

The man’s gaze twisted Rose’s stomach into knots. His eyes were dark like coals, his gaze piercing and intense, as though peering into her very soul. In that one look, he might have seen everything there was to know about her.

“Don't stand there tongue tied,” Renee said, nudging Rose with her elbow. “Introduce yourself.”

“Oh, right.” She extended her hand. “It's Rose. Rose Wilson.”

The man gave her hand a long stare before finally shaking it. “Richard Dragon. Tell me, why are you here, Rose?”

“Well, I was told you could help me.”

“Help you how?”

Rose shifted her weight uneasily. Richard’s gaze only intensified, boring further into her soul, to the point her stomach began doing back-flips. “I was hoping you could tell me that.”

“You lack direction in your life, is that it?” His expression never faltered—hard, stern, analyzing. “Or are you running away because it's the easy thing to do?”

She paused a moment, staring back at him. “I just—I can't figure out what to do with myself. I’m always screwing up, and I thought I’d fixed it, but I screwed up again and ruined _everything_ , and now—I don't know. I just have some problems I need to work out, I guess.”

“Everyone has problems, yet most people are able to deal with them without a pilgrimage to Nanda Parbat. I can't make you understand what you're supposed to do, or who you're supposed to be. Only you can do that.”

“But—”

“However-” He raised a hand to silence her- “I can help you find the path that will lead you to those answers. If you’re willing to learn what I have to teach.”

She gave a quick nod. “I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't.”

“I hope you mean that.”

“I guess we'll see, won't we?” She shifted her weight, kicking a fluff of snow up with her boot. “So, when do we start?”

“Not now,” he said, with the same intense stare. “Take a while first, grow acclimated to the city. Learn the customs, the routine, ready your mind, and then come see me again. That is when we will start.”

Rose cocked an eyebrow. “Alright, and how long should I spend doing that?”

“As long as it takes.”

“Okay then,” she muttered. “In that case, I'll go get 'acclimated'. Think I'll start with the local cuisine. Got anything to eat around here?”

Richard nodded. “I'll have someone bring a bowl of rice to your quarters soon, if you want to wait there.”

Rose deadpanned, staring back at the man with an empty gaze. Rice? A bowl of _rice?_ How on earth was she supposed to survive here on rice?

“Fine, I'll be in my room.” With a low grumble, she turned and marched back to her living quarters. Oh, this trip was off to a dandy fucking start.

* * *

Richard folded his arms, watching as Rose disappeared around the corner of a building. “I sense she will be a stubborn one.”

“Yeah, I got that vibe, too,” Renee said, with a small smirk. “Try spending fourteen hours on a plane with her.”

“Doesn’t make a difference, in any case,” he assured. “I've handled worse before.”

Renee pouted, setting her hands on her hips. “Please, I wasn't that bad.”

“Weren't you?”

She paused, lifting an eyebrow. He stared back with that unyielding, soul-piercing gaze of his. With a sigh, she relented, “Alright, I was pretty bad. But not your worst.”

“True.” Richard hopped back onto the rock and crossed his legs. “That prize goes to Charlie.”

* * *

Rose took a walk through the city later that night. Had to get a feel for this place somehow, didn’t she? Might as well see the sights. Not that there was much to see. A whole lot of stone buildings, a bunch of people quietly going about their business, and silent monks watching from every street corner, or making their way to the temple. For as enlightening as Nanda Parbat was supposed to be, it was also terribly boring. No bars or anything she could hit up to occupy her time, at least.

A shiver tingled down her arms. She hugged her heavy coat tighter around herself and looked upward, watching the light snowfall that had begun to flutter from the sky. The snowflakes were calm, gentle on the windless air, as though the peace of Nanda Parbat itself flowed through them on their journey to the ground below. Paper lanterns lit up the street at night, casting long, flickering shadows. Her own shadow danced in the pale light, twisting and writhing beneath the lanterns as she made her way down the street with her hands stuffed into her coat pockets.

Turning the corner of one street, her boots crunching along in the fresh snow, she noticed one person in particular who set her nerves at ease with a sense of familiarity. Renee sat on a bench outside a small hut, sipping a steaming liquid from a thermos. 

Rose trudged over to the bench, with a nod of greeting. “This seat taken?”

Renee motioned to the empty space next to her. “Be my guest.”

Letting out a small sigh, Rose plopped herself onto the bench next to the other woman. She remained quiet for the moment, leaning back to gaze up at the snowy sky above. A few flakes fluttered onto her cheeks, swiftly melting into cold tears.

“So,” Renee said, “you regret coming here yet?” 

Rose furrowed her brow. “Should I?”

“It's not for everyone, believe me.” Renee took a long sip from her steaming thermos. “When I first came here, I didn't know what I was doing or why I was here. I just wanted to leave.”

“But you didn't?”

“Couldn't. I owed too much to the friend who brought me here to just turn my back. So yeah, I stayed.”

Rose hummed a thoughtful breath. “And it worked out, huh?”

“I figured out what I needed to do to put my life in order, if that's what you mean. I'm sure Richard can do the same for you.”

“That remains to be seen,” she muttered. “So, where's that friend of yours now, anyway? The one who brought you here.”

Renee gazed straight forward, absently sipping again at her thermos. “Gone.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Rose sank back against the bench and uttered a heavy sigh. Stupid question. After a brief moment of silence, she leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and asked, “So, how long did it take you? To learn what you needed to, I mean.”

A brief pause followed, as Renee raised a thoughtful brow. Eventually, she shrugged and replied, “Not sure. Months—years, maybe?

Rose’s breath caught in her throat with a sudden cough. “Seriously? That long?” She’d known this wouldn’t be a quick excursion, but _years?_

“Don't worry too much about it. Time passes differently in Nanda Parbat. Days, weeks, months—they don't matter. Pretty soon, they'll all start to blend into each other and you won't be able to tell the difference. You might spend half a lifetime within these walls, while only a fraction of that time will pass beyond them.”

“So what, this city is in some kind of time bubble?”

Renee shrugged. “Couldn't tell you how it works. Don't really understand it myself. All I know is that I spent a long time here learning, training, finding myself, and when I returned to the outside world, it was like I'd never left.”

“Huh. No kidding?” When Renee merely took another sip from her thermos, Rose huffed a sigh. This place was like the freaking Twilight Zone. Straightening herself, she stood from the bench and stretched out her back. “Anyway, nice chat, but I should get going. Gotta work on getting 'acclimated' to this place, after all. Whatever that means”

“You'll get used to it eventually,” Renee said. “Took me two weeks before I finally understood what I needed to.”

“Right, well, thanks for the encouragement.” Rose gave a half wave, then trudged farther down the street. “See you around.”

* * *

It was a rainy day in Silverstone. Hot, too. The kind of rainy day that caused a sudden kick in humidity when the sun came out again. And gave the air that awful musty smell. Becky sucked in a deep breath of that foul musty air and wiped some of the water from her brow. Couldn’t have been a worse day to find a body in an alley, and yet here she was staring at the motionless form of a man dressed in nothing but his underwear, lying face down in a puddle. 

Cause of death was obvious enough. Judging from the massive bruising and the odd angle of his head, the man’s neck had been snapped. She was no medical examiner, but she’d stake her Christmas bonus on it. She didn't touch anything, of course, or tamper with the scene in any way. Couldn't go making life difficult for the crime scene investigators. Instead, she just stood there, staring at the corpse. Pure chance she’d stumbled upon it, noticing the body behind a few trash bags as she drove by on patrol. She’d put out the call immediately after, and now waited for the team to get here.

A large white and blue van pulled up a few minutes later, followed by another couple of squad cars and an unmarked vehicle—the forensics team, more patrol officers, and the detectives assigned to the case, most likely. Becky stepped away from the scene, ducking back out of the barricade tape she’d set up in front of the alley. Two men in suits already stood there waiting to greet her.

“Officer Chavez,” one of them said. He looked to be in his mid thirties, his face framed by a wild head of salt-and-pepper hair, and thick stubble across his jaw. “I'm Detective Kubrick, this is Detective Riggs.”

Becky glanced at the other man, a younger guy with short blonde hair and a stolid expression. “Right, yeah. I think I've seen you two around the station before.”

“I understand you're the one who found the body?” Kubrick said, pulling out a small notepad from his front pocket. Riggs promptly unfolded an umbrella and held it over the two of them, shielding Kubrick’s notepad from the rain.

 _“Sí,_ just a little while ago,” she said. “Followed standard procedure—secured the area, called it in. No witnesses in the immediate vicinity to take statements from.”

“And tell us again how you found the body.”

“Was just driving past on patrol, like normal. Happened to look over and there he was, face down and dead.”

Kubrick paused a moment, scribbling out a brief note. “And was there anything unusual about the scene?”

Becky lifted an eyebrow. “You mean aside from the dead guy in his underwear? Nothing I can think of, no.”

“Alright, in that case why don't you help us canvass the area, interview some of the people in the neighboring buildings, see if they saw anything?” Kubrick glanced back over his shoulder briefly, waving the forensics team through. “Give us any statements you get, then you can head back to the precinct and fill out a report.”

“Yeah, sure,” she said, nodding. “I'll get right on it.”

The two detectives returned the nod, then moved past her to the crime scene itself. Becky watched them for a couple moments, eyes narrowing. Something about that conversation just seemed off, but she couldn’t quite put a finger on it. Almost robotic, too much by the book. Those detectives—she’d seen them around the station before but never spoken with them, so they weren’t exactly on friendly terms, but even still. Everyone at Silverstone Central had a certain rapport with each other, a product of serving the city together every day. But these two had the personalities of rocks. Weird, but not necessarily suspicious. Could be they simply liked sticking to business in the field.

With a shake of her head, she continued to her squad car to find her notepad. Had to calm down, relax. She was just being paranoid, after that whole ninja business last week. Deep breaths, and do your job. As she took her notepad from the squad car, she gave one more look over her shoulder at the scene. Detective Kubrick was staring straight back at her.

A chilled shudder rippled through her arms, and she turned away. Alright, maybe a bit creepy.

* * *

Becky yawned, leaning back in the desk chair and stretching out her arms. Exhaustion crept deeper and clawed at her mind, but she fought it off the best she could. Another yawn, and her vision started to clear again. That’s what she got for working another double shift. Seemed like all she’d been doing lately was working, ever since Sarah had left. Or, no, not Sarah—Rose.

A painful, nauseous twinge gurgled in her gut. She frowned, letting her arms flop limp to her sides. There she went, thinking about Rose again. No matter how much she worked, no matter how much she tried to keep her mind on anything else, her thoughts inevitably drifted back to her partner. Or ex-partner. Ex-friend, too. All the lies, the hypocrisy, and the secrets—what kind of person did that to people they supposedly cared about?

Becky groaned, lifting her elbows onto the table and dropping her head into her hands. _Estúpida_. Rose was gone. Just let it go already.

After a few deep breaths, she rubbed her eyes and finished filling out the last of her report. The one thing most cops hated above all else about the job—the paperwork. They never quite covered how much of it there’d be during training, but boy did it add up. And with double shifts came double the paperwork, of course. Hopefully, some of this would actually be useful.

Especially her report on the John Doe from earlier. The statements she’d taken from some of the people in the buildings next to the alley were interesting, to say the least. Some didn't see or hear anything. Others thought they heard screaming. One man even claimed he saw some guy dressed in all back leaving the alley. Yet none of them bothered to notice the half-naked man lying face down in a puddle.

“Weird,” she muttered, breathing out another long yawn.

Time to get home and get some damn sleep, in any case. She had to be up in about six hours to do it all again tomorrow. After heading to the locker room to change, she gave a wave to the couple of other officers sitting around the station and made her way to the exit. 

Another yawn burst unwittingly from her throat, as she slowly marched along the sidewalk. Her apartment was only a couple blocks away from the station, fortunately. Saved a lot of money, being able to walk to work instead of drive. Not to mention a lot of time. Shoving her hands into her jeans pockets, she kept her gaze focused on the ground directly in front of her feet, trying her hardest not to nod off mid-walk. Could maybe take a day off soon and take a twelve hour nap or something. That might do her some good.

A flicker of movement shot her senses alight. With a renewed wave of awareness washing over, she snapped a gaze towards the alley next to her. The movement came again—a figure slinking into the shadows and disappearing into darkness. Becky squinted in hopes of catching another glimpse. Could have been something fluttering towards the top of the buildings, but any details were lost in her exhausted eyes. With a nervous shudder, she turned away from the alley and continued her walk.

Now she was really being paranoid.

* * *

Becky glanced at the clock—two thirty in the morning. About the time she figured she'd get home, give or take a few minutes. Just another late work night in the world of Rebecca Chavez. With a huff, she set her keys on the kitchen counter and wandered through the center of the small apartment. Sweat beaded across her brow, dripping down the sides of her face. Wouldn’t be easy getting to sleep in this heat, either. Her air conditioner had broken weeks ago, and she still hadn’t gotten around to buying a replacement. The only thing she had to supplement that was a small table fan, which accomplished next to nothing if her face wasn’t set directly in front of it.

She went through the motions of her nightly routine in an exhausted haze, brushing her teeth and washing her face before dragging her feet into the bedroom to sleep. If she was lucky, she’d get a few hours of good rest before getting up and doing it all again. With another lengthy yawn, she stripped down to her underwear and collapsed face-first onto her mattress. Sweat glistened across her back in a disgusting trickle of heat-induced stink.

Oy, she hated the summer.

Several minutes after she began dozing into her pillow, a sound hit her ears. Her eyes snapped open. The sound was slight, but she knew it well—a loose floorboard in the kitchen, just out of place enough to squeak when you stepped on it the wrong way. Only she wasn’t in the kitchen to step on it. Someone _else_ would have to be stepping on it. Someone else who realized the squeak had given away the element of surprise, as sudden footsteps raced across the apartment.

Becky lunged for the bedside table and yanked open the drawer. A small handgun rested inside. Tugging the weapon into her grasp, she whirled around towards the bedroom door. A dark figure rushed inside, already on her by the time she got the gun raised. Something metallic glinted in the moonlight streaming from the bedroom window. Panic exploded into her chest. She pulled the trigger.

Two shots fired before the figure hit her, and they both collapsed onto the bed. Becky hit the mattress with a grunt, the weight of her attacker falling on top of her. She held her breath, fumbling for the gun while her gaze frantically darted around in search of the attacker’s knife. A moment passed, and the figure didn’t move. Becky let out her breath. Something warm was spreading across her chest.

With a panicked shudder, she pushed the figure off of her and slid out from beneath. Bright crimson coated the front of her torso—blood, but not hers. No pain, no wound. She looked to the unmoving figure on her bed. Clearly female, judging from the smaller frame and the ponytail coiling out from beneath the head mask—a mask that bore a striking resemblance to a ninja mask, as did the rest of her dark outfit. Same as the ninjas who had attacked her and Rose in the warehouse last week.

Becky squinted, and turned the figure over. An immediate sigh left her lips. Blood gushed from the two bullet holes in the woman’s costume, center mass. The woman’s fingers opened limply when she flopped onto her back, losing grip on a long, single-edged blade that looked far more like a ninja sword than a simple knife.

 _“¿Qué diablos?”_ she muttered, with a disbelieving glare. 

What in the world was going on? Running across random ninjas in a warehouse was one level of weird too much, but being attacked by one in her own apartment? That was a different level entirely. With a frustrated groan, Becky hobbled off the bed in search of her phone. Had to call this in, after all.

So much for getting any sleep tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And Richard Dragon makes his appearance. I've always liked him as a character, ever since I read Renee's story in 52, back in the day. He's not just one of the most premiere fighters in the DCU, but he's also philosophical, and is good at helping people find the right path in their lives, the same as he did with Renee. He's exactly the kind of person Rose needs right now, to help her figure out her shit.
> 
> And you didn't think we were done in Silverstone, did you? Just because Rose is gone, doesn't mean shit's gonna stop happening. Something's going on, and now it's Becky's turn to start following some breadcrumbs. Or just stumble into something way bigger than anything she's prepared for. We'll have to see how that goes.


	32. Prelude of Shadow #6: The Right Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose continues her training in Nanda Parbat, struggling to find the answers to her questions about herself, while Becky continues stumbling into a growing case of weirdness in Silverstone.

Three weeks— _three weeks_ before Richard had determined Rose was “acclimated” enough to Nanda Parbat to begin their lessons. At least, she thought it was three weeks. True to Renee’s initial warning about this place, time lost its meaning within the city’s walls. Minutes flowed into hours, hours flowed into days, and days into weeks all in the blink of an eye. Trying to keep track of how much time was passing proved a pointless endeavor.

Rose thudded against the floor with a pained grunt, colored spots sparking in front of her eye. She blinked her vision clear and sat upright, the dimly lit dojo spiraling around her a moment before settling. A sharp throb pulsed through her jaw. With a frown, she glared upward at her new teacher standing over her. What in the hell was she supposed to be learning here, anyway? So far, all she’d done was get her ass kicked.

Richard stared back at her. He didn’t offer a hand to help her up, instead watching intently, waiting for her to make a move. With a quick shift, she flipped up to her feet and lunged at him with a vicious kick. He caught her leg with little effort, and twisted it away to push her off balance. As she stumbled forward, he delivered a hard palm strike to the center of her chest chest that sent her stumbling backwards again.

“You're becoming wild, sloppy,” Richard said. “Giving in to your anger and your frustration.”

“It's not my frustration making me sloppy,” she grumbled, straightening herself. “I have no depth perception right now. You try fighting with one eye and nothing to compensate for it.”

Fuck this stupid temple. Richard had insisted they train here and nowhere else—the temple was the main fixture of Nanda Parbat, after all, its many-tiered outline looming above city atop its rocky precipice. According to him, it was also protected by the goddess Rama Kushna herself, who disallowed the effects of all outside powers, abilities, strengths, and all that other bullcrap. Within this temple, all those who entered were on equal ground. That meant Rose’s enhanced strength, agility, reflexes, speed, even her precog—all gone. She had only her skill and her body to fall back on, and her body happened to be missing an eye.

Normally, her precognition and enhanced physical attributes more than made up for her blind side, but without them she was missing a piece of herself. She couldn’t tell what was coming from her left side and her depth perception was shot. Might as well be trying to fight with both hands tied behind her back. Didn’t help that Dragon was good. _Real_ good. Like, Lady Shiva good—maybe better, although that was hard to tell with her current handicaps.

“You rely too much on your enhancements, and not enough on your skill,” Richard stated, circling her with his hands clasped behind his back. “What happens when those meta abilities of yours are a non-factor, such as now? Then what do you do?”

“Get my ass handed to me, clearly,” she said, with a contentious glare. “This is stupid, I didn't come here for you to beat the crap out of me, I came here to learn.”

“And I am teaching. If you could look past your clouded mind, you might be able to see the lesson.”

Rose scoffed. “What lesson is that, huh? That I'm next to useless without my enhanced attributes?”

“You must figure that out on your own,” he said, shifting back into a combative stance. “Until then, we continue. Come at me again, and this time actually try to hit me.”

* * *

Rose slowly made her way down the winding stone steps from the temple towards the city below, a noticeable limp in her stride. Some lesson. The only thing she’d learned was that she barely passed as a fighter without her enhancements. At the very least she wouldn’t ever have to worry about those enhancements disappearing outside Rama Kushna’s temple. A renewed strength had surged through her the instant she stepped outside its walls, and damn did it feel good.

Granted, that didn’t make the bruises disappear. They might heal by morning, but they still fucking hurt. That Richard Dragon knew how to throw a mean punch, she’d give him that. Not mention a mean kick. And—well, okay, more like a mean _everything_. She’d be back again tomorrow to do it all again, too. But what to do until then? Still a good six hours of daylight left, but Richard had already concluded their training for the day. Apparently, she needed time to better contemplate the meaning of his lesson.

As she neared the bottom of the stone steps, she noticed Renee standing there, watching her with a curious stare. Rose frowned, staring back at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just thinking.”

“Thinking about...?”

“How hard Richard must have kicked you to give you that limp.”

Rose stood straighter and glared. “Don't know what you're talking about.”

“Of course you don't.” Turning away, Renee waved for her to follow. “Now, come with me. Your lessons aren't over today.”

“Wait, so you're going to teach me something now too?” Rose said, hurrying after the woman as best she could with every step shooting lances of pain through her knee.

“Good question. Am I?”

“That’s what I asked...”

“I mean,” Renee clarified, “are you willing to learn?”

Rose sighed. “Oh, that again. Let's just get on with this.”

* * *

Rose stared at the shimmering, reflective walls of the cave, all coated in a thick sheet of ice. The ice had been polished and smoothed over, turning the walls into a hive of countless mirrors reflecting her image back at her. Everywhere she looked, multiple copies of herself turned to follow. A circle of candles was set up in the center of the chamber, offering the only source of light within the cave. The tiny flames flickered and danced, causing tall, long shadows to writhe along the mirrored walls.

“What, couldn’t find a creepier place?” Rose said, with a dead stare at several of her reflections. The mirrors poured unease into her gut, a dozen different versions of her own failure to watch her. “Think I’d prefer an abandoned insane asylum.”

“Funny. Now come, sit.” Renee lowered herself to the cold floor of the cave, sitting cross-legged in the center of the candles. She left an empty space across from her, just large enough to fit another person.

Rose sat down in the empty space. “Alright, so what the hell are we doing here?”

“Here, you will look into yourself and learn what you desire most,” said Renee. “That lack of direction you feel? That sense of doubt? This is where you find the source. Eventually.”

“Look into myself?” Rose huffed, gazing up at the reflective walls. “So the mirrors are a metaphor? Real cute. But if this is where I'm supposed to figure out the problem, then what's Richard teaching me?”

A slow smirk snaked its way across Renee’s face. “And that's the question.”

Rose frowned. Enough with the cryptic answers, already. Why couldn't these people just tell her what she needed to know and let that be the end of it? “Okay, and how am I supposed to do that?”

Renee straightened her posture, hands coming to rest on her knees. “Have you ever meditated before? Retreated into your own mind to gain a real understanding of yourself? It’s one of the many things I learned while I was here.”

“Meditation... right.” Rose’s thoughts drifted to a different time, several years ago in Titans Tower. Eddie had tried to get her into meditation once. Tried, and failed. Maybe she should have paid more attention. “Tried it, didn't take. Not my thing.”

“Well, now you're going to make it your thing, because that's what we're doing here.”

Rose grumbled, mimicking Renee’s posture. “Swell.”

* * *

Becky rifled through the long cabinet of folders, her eyes scanning the case titles. A sudden noise thudded near the door. She looked up, held her breath—nothing there. Back to the drawer. She found the folder she’d been searching for a second later. Pulling it free from the cabinet, she stuffed it into a second empty folder and scurried out of the file room.

She shouldn't be doing this. She was a patrol officer, not a detective—this wasn't her case. But too many weird things had been happening lately. Too much for her to ignore. Ever since being attacked in her apartment last week by a woman dressed like a ninja, things around the station had been off. 

The dead body in the alleyway she had discovered belonged to Francis Briggs, suspected family crime boss awaiting trial for his hand in hiring a professional assassin a couple months ago. Not strange on its own, but a few days later a Jane Doe had surfaced—forensics identified her as Emilia Delaney, another suspected crime boss, also awaiting trial for associating with Frankie Briggs and Rupert Thorne in the assassin thing. A day after that, a third body—Calum O’Malley, believed to be the head of the Irish Mafia in Silverstone.

The highly watched, suspected heads of organized crime families showing up dead around the city at roughly the same time was strange enough, but there’d been inconsistencies in the investigations, too—no leads, no forensic evidence, nothing to give them a hint at who the killer was. It didn't make any sense. There was _always_ evidence to find. Throw in the sloppy manner in which the bodies had been dumped, and there should have been mountains of it to find. Whoever had killed them didn't bother to cover up their tracks, and yet the crime scene units couldn’t find a single spec of evidence? No. That wasn’t right.

Then, there were the detectives in charge of the investigation—Detectives Kubrick and Riggs. Couldn’t put any real finger on what about them was off, but they radiated bad vibes the way fire radiated heat. They always kept to themselves, never spoke with anyone around the station if they didn’t have to, and if you tried to ask them a question? They’d give the briefest answers possible before hurrying away. Or at least Kubrick would, while glaring at you as though you’d just murdered his puppy. Riggs never said anything.

Sitting down at an empty desk, Becky opened the folder. The first couple pages included basic background information on the case. Nothing interesting. She was after the details. With a stern breath, she flipped over the pages to get to the meat of the case file. And she froze. No, that wasn’t right. Had to be a mistake. She flipped to the next page. And then the next one. And the next.

All blank.

Becky’s gut churned and sank, bubbling nausea into her throat. No doubt about it anymore. Something was wrong. Very, _very_ wrong. Slapping the folder shut, she stood up and shot her gaze around the station. Just a few other officers going about their business. Nothing out of the ordinary. Had someone been tampering with the case files? Could it be an honest mistake, or was something more sinister going on here? Could she even trust anyone to bring this information to?

Calm down. Deep breaths. The captain—she could take this to the captain. If there was anyone in this station she could trust, it was him. Hurrying down the hallway, she made her way towards Captain Palmer’s office. Before she got there, a voice stopped her.

“Hey, Rebecca!” Officer Stevens hurried after her, waving her down.

Becky hissed a quiet groan—of all the people she didn’t have time for right now. “Stevens, hey, don’t got a lot of time to talk right now. Kinda in a hurry.” 

“Ah come on, no need to be in a rush,” Stevens said, with a chipper smile. “I just wanted to ask a quick question.”

She sighed again. “And what would that be?”

“Why are you so nosy?”

“Why am I—” Becky paused, blinking at him in confusion. “I’m sorry, what?”

“See, we've been watching you for a while now, Rebecca,” he said. “We know what you're doing.”

The nausea in her throat exploded, bringing the taste of bile into her mouth. She took a slow step away from the man. “Come again?”

“You're getting too close, Rebecca, and we can't have that.” Stevens reached to his belt, hand going for his gun. “So I'm afraid I have to say goodbye.”

Becky lashed out through sheer instinct and grabbed his wrist, a second before he could get the gun pointed at her. A shot rang out, ripping into a nearby desk. People screamed. Several other officers ducked for cover, drawing their own guns in panicked confusion. With a kick to Stevens’ knee, Becky knocked him off balance. In the same motion, she pulled her taster from her belt, clicked the button, and jammed the crackling metal prongs into his chest. He collapsed to the floor with a pained cry, flopping around like a dead fish. 

A few seconds later, the previously panicked officers around the station sprang into action, having assessed the situation. Several ran to the downed Officer Stevens and began restraining him, putting him into handcuffs. Becky hobbled a shaky step backwards. Her heart pounded, beating like thunder in her chest. 

He’d tried to kill her. A fellow officer. Officer Stevens, for crying out loud! And in the middle of Silverstone Central? _¡Carajo!_ What in the hell was going on?

* * *

Silence—it was the only thing Rose heard. All sounds from the outside world vanished within this cave, separated into its own, quiet void. Still didn’t help her concentrate. Renee had spent the better part of the last three hours trying to teach her the finer points of meditation, but that had done nothing to help her “get in touch” with herself. With a frustrated grumble, she opened her eye and stared at the large reflective ice wall in front of her. 

Why did she have to look at herself right now? It might be her face, but beyond the image, she didn’t know anything else. Who was she, really? What was she supposed to be doing? Where did she belong? These were the questions she had come here to get answered, and yet she was no closer to figuring them out than when she’d arrived. Probably never would, at this rate. Fuck, maybe coming here had been a mistake, after all.

Leaning back on her hands, she huffed a deep breath and uncrossed her legs. Nope, definitely not feeling it. How the hell was this supposed to solve her problems? She gave her reflections one final look before jumping to her feet and marching back through the icy tunnel that led out of the cave. When she emerged outside, an open night sky of ink black darkness painted with thousands of glittering stars and a brilliant full moon stared down at her. Evidently, she’d been in there a lot longer than she’d thought. Again with the whole time warp thing. 

“So, make any progress?”

Rose glanced to her left, where Renee stood leaning against the rocky cave wall sipping hot tea from her thermos. “Depends. Is no progress still progress?”

“You'll get it eventually,” Renee said. “Just takes time.”

“Somehow, I'm not so sure.” As the two begin to walk down the trail back to the main part of the city, Rose folded her arms and let out a heavy sigh. “I just—I keep asking myself those questions. Who am I? What am I supposed to do? Over and over again, and I come up with nothing. I don't think this place is helping much.”

“As an old friend of mine would have said, those are the wrong questions to ask yourself.”

Rose frowned. Then what's the right one?”

Renee took another sip from her thermos. “Who do you _want_ to be?

“How is that any different?” 

“You'll figure it out. Eventually.”

Rose huffed in frustration, letting her head fall back so she could stare up at the sky. “Well, at least one of us has confidence.”

Renee paused, glancing back at Rose with a contemplative squint. “Let me ask you something: do you have anyone special back home? Anyone you regret leaving behind?”

“And what's that have to do with anything?”

“Call me curious.”

Rose hesitated, giving the other woman a sidelong glance. Well, there was Holly, of course, and yet judging from the context of the question, she somehow doubted that’s what Renee meant. Instead, her thoughts immediately shifted to Becky. “Yeah. I mean, maybe. Kind of. I don't know.”

Renee took another sip of tea, a small grin crossing her lips. “Sounds like it’s complicated.”

“It is. I think. I just—ugh.” Rose rubbed her fingers across her forehead. “It's hard to explain. I mean, she was probably the closest friend I had. _Ever_ had. And sure, we'd only known each other for like half a year, but hell, she added a whole new dimension to my life, you know? I think she’s the first friend I had who taught me to actually enjoy life, instead of struggling through it. She actually made me _happy.”_

Renee cocked an eyebrow, her grin growing into a knowing smirk. “Just friends, huh?”

“Well, yeah. Sort of. I mean—I don’t know,” Rose stammered, with a flustered shake of her head. “I mean, I didn't know she thought of me as more than a friend until she actually made a move, and god, that was awkward.”

“So, you didn't feel the same way?”

“No. I mean—not at first.” Rose lowered a blank stare at the snowy ground. Her heart began to flutter, vibrating in her chest like some kind of terrible wind-up toy. “I don't think. We were close, yeah, but I'm not—I mean, I've never been into women. But she—look, it's complicated. Why are we even talking about this?”

“Like I said, I'm curious.” Renee finished off the last of her tea and closed the cap to her thermos. “So, what happened between you two? Something tells me you wouldn't be here if things were still good.”

Rose scoffed. “Oh, you know. She just found out I'd been lying to her during the entire time I knew her. When she found out my other identity, well—it wasn't pretty. She wouldn't even talk to me after that. I wanted to explain things better, but it's hard to do that when the other person shuts you out completely.”

“Sounds like you miss her.”

Rose offered a nonchalant shrug, as the fluttering in her chest intensified. “So, what if I do?”

Renee smiled, and continued her trek farther into the city. “Then I'd say you're already a little closer to answering the right question.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knew discovering yourself could be so hard? Well, everybody but Rose, probably. She's expecting an easy solution to a complicated issue, but as we see it's not going to come that quickly. She has a lot of self reflecting to do, and that's not going to happen in a few weeks. But with a little help from Renee and Richard, she might just get there eventually. And yeah, some bizarre things are going on in Silverstone, and Becky is stumbling headlong into it. Seems like she's caught someone's attention. Only question is: who?


	33. Prelude of Shadow #7: No More Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose finds the answers she's been searching for in Nanda Parbat, when she receives a vision of the future that prompts a sudden return to Silverstone.

How long had she been here? Months? Years? Rose couldn't tell anymore. Time had even less meaning now than it had before, and that was saying something. All she knew was that she’d been here a long time—much longer than she had intended to stay. Not that she felt it. Weeks, months, years—they blurred by in a rushing wave. She could spend half a lifetime in Nanda Parbat, and it might pass in a manner of moments. And after so long, she’d almost grasped what she needed to. Not quite yet, but close. She could sense what she needed to find floating somewhere close in front of her, just out of grasp but close enough to chase. A little more, and she might just figure it out.

“Good!” Richard exclaimed, taking a step back and countering with a high kick. “Again!”

Rose ducked below the attack, sweeping her leg around behind his knee and catching him off balance. The flow of battle came so easy to her now, more so than ever before. Her actions were reflexive, instant—newfound muscle memory the likes of which she’d never imagined. Even while sparring in the middle of Rama Kushna’s temple, with all her extrasensory abilities and attributes stripped away, she fought better than she ever had. The training she’d undergone with Richard Dragon’s tutelage had taken the potential Lady Shiva had seen in her and not only nurtured it, but brought it out full force.

“Is that all you got?” Rose said, with a mocking grin.

Richard rushed in with a powerful series of blows. His actions were hard, precise, and blindingly fast. But Rose saw them coming, and not because of precognition. No—her own skill matched him, deflected his punches, blocked his kicks. Even with her missing eye, blind side and lack of depth perception all, she went toe to toe with Richard freaking Dragon.

One of Richard’s kicks cracked into her jaw. Rose grunted, and lost her footing. She landed on the padded sparring mats for but a moment before flipping back to her feet in a ready stance. “Okay, I should have had that one.”

“You over extended during your last attack,” Richard said. “It threw you off balance just enough for me to land a blow at your blind side.

Rose breathed hard, wiping a small trickle of blood from the cut on her lip. “Right, I'll keep that in mind. Let's keep going.”

“No, I think that's enough for now.” He straightened out of his stance and bowed to her; she bowed in return. Extending his hand, he said, “You've come a long way.”

She shook his hand, and offered a soft chuckle. “You're telling me.”

“So, my lesson.” Richard pulled his hand back and folded his arms. “Have you figured it out, yet?”

“I think so.” She bowed her head, sucking in a deep breath. “I've doubted myself for the longest time. Maybe not on the outside, but deep down. No matter how much good I did or how far my life progressed, I always felt like like I didn't deserve it. Or that I would screw it all up again.”

Richard lifted an eyebrow. “And?”

“And that incident with Becky brought out all that self-doubt to the surface. It had me so unsure of myself that my entire life's purpose folded around me. I was lost.” She paused, tilting her head slightly and sighing. “I'd been relying on the people and material things in my life to define me as a person, just the same as I relied on my enhanced abilities as a crutch in battle. When life kicked one of those crutches out from beneath me, I toppled like a house of cards.”

“That is part of it,” Richard said. “But what have learned from that?”

“That it's time I started trusting myself,” she replied. “Time I figured out exactly who I am, exactly who I want to be, so that I can figure out how to live my life without worry, without doubt.”

A small smirk curled its way onto his face. “And have you figured that out yet?”

Rose shrugged, shaking her head. “Not yet. That's what Renee's meditation lessons are supposed to be helping me with, right? I'm almost there, I think. I just haven't quite grasped it yet.”

Richard held a hand to her shoulder. “You’ll figure it out soon, I feel. You've been here long enough.”

“Yeah, about that—how long _have_ I been here, exactly?”

Richard paused, looking out a nearby window of the temple towards the mountains beyond. “On the outside world, I would guess it's been a month and a half, give or take a week.” He then glanced back at her, gaze narrowing. “But in here, it's been about the equivalent of about four years.”

Rose's brow shot up in surprise. “Wow. Doesn't feel like it's been that long.”

“As Renee told you,” Richard said, with a knowing smirk, “time has little meaning in Nanda Parbat.”

* * *

“So, you think today is the day?” Renee asked.

Sitting cross-legged in the middle of the ice cave, Rose glanced up at her. “I don't know. I hope so. I mean, I'm ready, anyway. Really ready.”

“That's good.” Renee smiled, heading towards the exit. “Just need to concentrate. It'll come to you.”

As the woman turned to leave, Rose called out to her. “Hey, Renee?”

She stopped, looking back over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Thanks. For bringing me here, I mean. And, well, for listening to me. You've been a good friend.” The concept of calling Renee a friend seemed strange, almost like it shouldn’t be real. For as much time as she’d spent in Nanda Parbat, she didn’t feel like she’d known this woman for four years, and yet she had. Regardless of how time flowed here, and whether or not the years had actually felt like years, Renee had been with her every day—teaching her, training her, listening to her. Throughout that time, Renee may have been far more of a mentor than a close friend, but still, Rose had spent enough time with her now to have a deep appreciation for everything this woman had done for her.

Renee smiled. “You're welcome, Rose. Now, go figure out your life.”

“You got it,” she said, closing her eye.

For the next three hours, she sat there motionless. Her mind cleared, breathing steadied, heart rate slowed. The time passed as normal as any other, no different than her other meditation sessions. The desire to figure out what she wanted and who she was burned fierce within her, but no matter how hard she tried to focus it wouldn’t come.

Please. If not now, then when? She’d learned so much. She was ready for this. Ready for _answers_.

And then it happened. A flash pulsed through her mind—similar to her precognition, and yet somehow different. Somehow _more_ . These weren’t merely a couple seconds of flashing images. Her entire consciousness left her body, went elsewhere—or rather else _when_. This was still the future, of that she was sure, but not just a few seconds or even minutes later. This was—well, she wasn't sure how far ahead, only that it had yet to happen.

Rose opened her eye and looked around, expecting to see the cave. The cave was gone. Instead, she found herself in some kind of storage shed. A few tools lay around haphazardly, some old boxes, a broom, and—was that blood? She blinked a few times, trying to focus. Everything appeared washed out and hazy, as though watching an old movie. This had happened once before, when she’d first triggered her precognition. She’d been only fourteen then, and stuck in a coma at the time, but still, this was similar—not a brief glimpse at something about to happen, but a full blown vision of a possible future.

Rose climbed to her feet and inspected a large dark blotch on the floorboards. The blotch was fresh, still wet. Definitely blood. A sharp cry drew her attention. She snapped a look towards the door on the opposite wall—the cry had come from somewhere beyond. She crept towards it and eased the door open.

The square room on the other side was mostly empty, with a single light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Two people clustered in the center of the room—a man and a woman. The woman sat on a chair, bound tight to it with thick rope, and a handkerchief gagging her mouth. Her head hung forward, stringy brown hair veiling her face. The man paced around the chair, a steel pipe in hand. For a few moments, he rested the pipe on his shoulder, tapping it against himself. Then, he swung the pipe, beating it across the woman's shoulder. The woman screamed, her voice muffled behind her gag. 

Rose lunged at the man. “Bastard!”

She faded straight through him, her momentum carrying her forward into a stumble. Right—this was only a vision, not real. She couldn’t interact. She could only watch. With a deep breath, she spun around to watch closer. Just what exactly was this a vision of?

“Should have left well enough alone,” the man said, shaking his head. “You'd think after the first couple of times we tried to stop you, you'd get the message. But no, you just had to keep digging.”

He took another swing, this time cracking the pipe across the woman's arm. She screamed again, a deep, muffled grunt surging from her throat.

“Who else did you tell about us, huh? Who else knows!”

An uppercut swing this time. The tip of the pipe cracked against the woman's jaw, sending her and the chair crashing to the floor. She went limp, uttering soft, whimpering sobs. Her face turned against the floor, staring up at the man through tear-stained eyes. 

When Rose saw the face, her entire body flashed numb. “Becky?” 

The man moved to make another attack, but as he did the world began to flicker in and out of existence. Becky and her attacker faded from sight. The room followed shortly thereafter, plunging her into an empty expanse of ink black darkness. Consciousness roared back to her, and with a gasping cry she was back in the ice cave again. A panicked breath burst from her throat, and she snapped open her eye. Dozens of reflections stared back at her from the mirrored ice walls, but it wasn’t only her own face she saw there. A second face—a _familiar_ face—sat there at her side. Her heart thudded, as warmth and clarity spread through her.

She’d finally answered the question.

No time to celebrate. While her precognition did only show possibilities, they were _likely_ possibilities, and her visions were seldom wrong. And with something this extensive? Rose lurched up from the floor and raced down the tunnel towards the mouth of the cave. She had to find Renee. She had to get out of Nanda Parbat.

Had to get back to Silverstone.

* * *

Twenty-eight hours later, Rose sprinted through the streets of Silverstone City. A steady rain poured around her, soaking through her leather jacket and weighing down her white hair in sodden strands against her face. She’d called a cab to take her, but of course they’d hit mid-day traffic at the worst possible moment. Faster to just run at that point. Racing around the corner of the sidewalk, she barreled towards a brick apartment building, clamoring up the front steps so fast she nearly put a shoulder through the door. She tried to open it, but it didn’t budge. Locked, obviously. She didn’t live here.

“Come on!” she shouted, desperately throwing herself against the frame. A moment of clarity pulsed through her, long enough to remember to press the buzzer on the panel near the door for apartment 6B. “Becky? Are you there? Becky? It's—it's me. It's Rose. I—listen, are you there? I want to talk. I _need_ to talk!”

Come on, be there. Please be there!

No response. She buzzed again, but two minutes later there was still no sign of Becky. “Shit!” 

Was she too late? She couldn't be too late. She couldn't lose Becky like this, not because she was halfway across the world, too busy running away from her problems again! She wiped rainwater from her eyes and took a few steps backward, briefly contemplating kicking in the front door. But what if Becky was just out right now? What if she was fine? Or working? Sure, it was Saturday, but she might have taken an extra shift. Maybe—

“Rose?”

Rose spun around to see Becky standing behind her on the sidewalk, a long raincoat draped around her figure and an open umbrella held above her head. Breath left her lungs. With a relieved chuckle, Rose ran forward and squeezed her arms tight around the woman. “You’re alright.”

Becky stiffened at the embrace. When she spoke, a wary hostility rumbled in her tone. “I’m fine. What are you doing here, Rose?”

“I—I just needed to talk to you.” She released the hug and took three steps backward. Right, Becky would still be furious at her. It had only been a month and a half for her, after all.

Becky's eyes narrowed. “So talk.”

Rose swallowed, giving a quick nod. “Okay, look. I know when I left before, things between us weren't good.”

“You lied to me, betrayed my trust, and were acting as a criminal on a nightly basis. 'Not good' is a bit of an understatement.”

“I know. You're right. And not just about that—about everything.” A shuddering breath rippled through her throat. She wiped a wet strand of hair out of her face and continued, “I lied to you. I betrayed you. I hurt you. But damn it, I never meant to. I never wanted to.”

Becky’s frown deepened. “Well, it's a little late to change that, isn't it?”

“Yeah, maybe.” Rose closed her eye, and rubbed her fingers against her forehead. “But I want to explain things first. Everything. I lied to you before, about who I am, what I do—a lot. So now, I'm gonna be completely honest. Who I am, where I come from, what I've done—everything. No matter how you feel about me now, or how you feel about me afterward, I don't want to keep those secrets from you anymore.”

Becky stared a long while, her narrow gaze flickering back and forth with appraising judgement. Eventually, she pushed past Rose, heading to the apartment entrance and unlocking it to walk inside. Still, she said nothing. Rose felt her gut drop out with disappointment. Right, well. Probably should have expected that. Was worth a try, in any case.

But instead of closing the door, Becky held it open behind her and looked back. As steely as her eyes had been, something in them softened, if only for a moment. “So, are you just going to stand there and catch cold, or are you coming up?”

* * *

The tension within the apartment was thick enough to cut with a radial arm saw. Rose sat quietly on the couch in the living room, while Becky made her way into the kitchen. They hadn't said anything else since entering the building, not since they were outside. Shifting her weight uneasily, Rose held her hands in her lap and took in a deep breath.

“So, you want a drink or something?” Becky asked.

Rose gave a quick nod. “Water’s fine.”

Becky poured a glass of water, and returned to the living room. Sitting in a chair across from the couch, she set the glass on the coffee table between them. The steel returned to her gaze, as she crossed her arms across her chest. “Alright, so explain.”

“Well, for starters, my name isn't Sarah Walker,” she said, taking a small sip from her glass of water. “But then you already knew that. Like I said before, my real name is Rose Wilson. I grew up in New York City with my mother, until I was fourteen. It was a good childhood—a great one. My mom had me tutored privately, only the best for her little girl. She also taught me to defend myself. Those ten years of Karate I mentioned? More like an entire life of martial arts. My mother—she was the best. I loved her more than anything, up until the day I lost her.”

Becky listened closely, but she didn't say anything.

Letting out a deep breath, Rose bowed her head and continued. “And then I met my father and his side of the family. That's when things got bad.”

She explained everything. It took the better part of two hours, but she covered her entire life. She didn’t leave anything out. She explained about her father's half-brother, Wade DeFarge, kidnapping and torturing her. About her mother's presumed death in rescuing her. And about her first stint on the Teen Titans. Her time as Lian Harper's nanny, Wade DeFarge coming back and killing her foster parents, Slade rescuing her and then having her kill Wade to take over his Ravager identity. 

Her memory darkened, as she spoke of her father drugging her with his serum and controlling her for his use, leading to her carving out her own eye to prove her loyalty to him. But Nightwing had helped her break free of his control, and got her a spot on the Teen Titans, this time as an official member. On and on, she explained—all throughout her time on the Titans and the multiple times she’d left them, only to come back again. All the way up to her horrible fuck up where she’d gotten those hostages killed, and Kid Flash injured saving her. That had left to her to leaving the team yet again, where she eventually found herself in Silverstone.

She explained how she found Holly, how Batman set her up with a new identity as a cop, how she was forced into crime for Jeremiah Belmont in order to keep Rebecca and Holly safe. She spoke of her time in Nanda Parbat, where she had finally realized that she needed to stop doubting herself and take charge of her life. Which led her here, on Becky’s couch, spilling every single one of her secrets bare.

Rose held her breath, and for the first time since starting her life story glanced up at Becky. She expected confusion, or anger. Hatred, even. Disgust. She did not at all expect the tears. Becky blinked, sitting back on the couch and wiping at her eyes. For several moments, she said nothing. Her jaw tightened repeatedly, as though her mouth grappled for the right words to say. When at last the silence grew so deafening it threatened to choke the life out of the room, Becky sniffled and leaned forward.

“That is— _Ay Dios mío._ That is a lot to take in.” She wiped her eyes again, slowly nodding her head. “I figured you must have been through some kind of shit to end up running around at night with swords, but that… I never expected that.”

Rose let her gaze fall to the floor. “Yeah, my life’s been a pretty steady stream of shit being kicked in my face for the past seven years or so. Guess I just got used to it.”

“And that whole time I thought you were a criminal, you were—” Becky’s words caught with a choke. She pinched her fingers against her eyes, and uttered a heavy sigh. “You were protecting me.”

“It’s not your fault. I didn't tell you. I _should_ have told you.”

“I guess it can’t be the easiest thing to do, though, revealing your secret—your _life_ —to someone. At least, when you’ve had that kind of life.”

Rose gave an absent nod. “Yeah, well now I have. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you all this sooner.”

A wistful smirk curled on Becky’s face. “Would have saved a lot of drama, ah?”

“Yeah, probably. Anyway, that's all I came here for. To tell you that.” Rose stood up, gulped down the rest of her water, and turned to leave the apartment. “I'll go now. I know you don't want me hanging around your place any longer than I need to. So, yeah, goodbye.”

Becky shot to her feet and grabbed Rose’s arm, before she could get too far away. “Hold on. Who said I didn't want you around?”

Rose blinked, giving the woman a quizzical stare. “I just—I figured, considering everything that's happened...”

“Oy, Rose. You might be trying to take charge of your life, but you still got a lot to learn about social cues.” Becky eased a soft exhale and took hold of Rose's hands. “Look, we both made mistakes. You lied to me, yeah, but I never gave you a chance to explain things. And while I don’t necessarily approve of what you do as the Blade—or Ravager, I guess—I can understand why you do it. I let you walk out on me once. Now that you’re back and you’re being honest, being your real self—I’m not making that mistake again.”

Rose swallowed, a warm smile curling slowly across her face. Her heart fluttered, a swarm of butterflies pulsing through her chest. “Well, if you don't want me to leave, then I'm not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Becky smiled, bringing her hands up to Rose’s shoulders. Her touch was gentle, soft. Warm. _Wonderful_. After a moment staring into each other’s eyes, Becky looked away with a mutter and shook her head.

“Something wrong?” Rose asked, lifting an eyebrow.

“No, I just—” Becky paused, whispering something in Spanish to herself. “I want to do something right now, but the last time I tried it didn't end so good.”

In a single instant, an entire lifetime of worry, doubt, and self-loathing washed out of Rose’s body in a rapid, rejuvenating wave. She smiled, and turned Becky’s head towards her own. No words came to mind. No words seemed right. Instead, she leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Becky’s shoulders, and pressed their lips together in a deep, tender kiss. The fluttering in Rose’s chest grew rampant, her heart pulsing a million miles a minute. Warmth wrapped over her body. Lifted her. _Fueled_ her.

Becky stiffened in rigid surprise for the first couple seconds. Soon, though, she melted into the kiss and returned it with equal fervor. When at last they pulled apart, they stood there breathless, gasping for air. An exasperated sigh left Becky’s throat, a wide grin spreading across her face.. “And here I thought you didn't like women.”

Rose gasped, a faint tingle pulsing across her lips. “I like _you_ , Becky. Just you.”

 _“Cáspita.”_ Becky chuckled, squeezing her arms around Rose’s hips. “You really know how to make a girl blush.”

Rose smirked. “I try.”

“And you really mean that? You're not just, I don't know, being nice? You don't have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with just for my sake, you know.”

“I know,” she said, with a fervent nod. “And to be completely honest, if you didn't want anything more—if you’d never had a crush on me—then I probably never would have considered it. But let's face it, you've been crushing on me hard ever since we started working together.”

Becky cleared her throat, turning away with a tinge of embarrassment glowing on her cheeks. “Well, yeah, maybe a little.”

“And you do want something more. I think deep down, I've wanted that with someone for a long time, and right now, I wouldn't rather it be with anyone else.”

“Well in that case...” Becky locked their lips together again. She was more aggressive this time, pushing Rose back down to the couch and straddling her lap. When she pulled their lips apart again, she smirked, her fingers tenderly caressing Rose’s waist. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, yeah, this was probably an obvious eventuality. At least, I think I was very clearly setting up Rose and Becky to end up starting a relationship, Just so happens that it required Rose to go on a personal journey of self discovery halfway around the world to figure out that's what she wanted. Well, that and figure out how to deal with her own self doubts. Now, I did jump ahead quite a bit through her time in Nanda Parbat, but then that's because trying to cover a constant 4 years* of the same routine would probably be quite boring to read. So I ended up bringing us to the end of it, which are the important bits. In any case, Rose is back, things with Becky have been patched up in the best ways, and her life is in order. But there's still some weird stuff going on in Silverstone that's going to require some special kind of investigating. We'll get to that in the next story arc.
> 
> *timey wimey shenanigans


	34. Ravager Rising #1: Beneath The Fuego Lounge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is back in Silverstone, and after patching things up with Becky in the best way possible, she returns to her role as Ravager to uncover the strange things that have been going on in the city during her absence.

Rose heaved deep breaths, staring in a euphoric haze at the ceiling of the darkened bedroom. A small digital clock on the bedside table offered the only source of light in the room, a dull red glow casting shadows above. Sweat beaded from her forehead. Every few seconds, her body twitched—a shudder of her arms, or a buck of her hips, unwitting and beyond her control, a natural reaction in her current state. With another few gulps of air, she stole a glance around the room. Clothing littered the floor—a jacket here, a pair of jeans there, a bra slung over the back of a chair, a shirt strewn over the top of a desk. Somehow, her thong had ended up dangling from the ceiling fan. 

An absent chuckle of delight found its way out her throat. “Alright, so that was—I mean, I never—and you were—”

Becky shifted on the other side of the bed, offering a subtle grunt of satisfaction as one of her arms latched around Rose’s waist.  _ “Fantástico.” _

“Yeah,  _ fantástico,” _ she repeated. “Sounds about right.”

“I will say, it’s been a long time since I had a night like that." Becky grinned, brushing a stray strand of hair out of Rose’s face. 

“It's been—well, never, for me,” Rose admitted. “So, yeah. Sorry for my, you know—inexperience.”

Becky laughed, and moved closer, kissing her lips gently along Rose's neck. “S'alright. Just means I have a lot to teach you.”

Rose breathed softly, craning her neck to allow Becky better access. “And something tells me you'll be more than happy to.”

Another chuckle.  _ “Sí,  _ very much.”

Her breathing intensified with a sudden, rushing intake of air, as the kisses traced a tingle along her skin. Bringing one of her hands up, she grabbed Becky's and interlocked their fingers. “So, about me coming back now, and about you knowing who I am—I suppose we're going to have to figure out what to do about it, right? How to handle things.”

“Mmm, suppose so.” Becky eased a sigh, slowing her kisses until the stopped. Nuzzling close against the pillow, she added, “What did you have in mind?”

“Well, you know I'm Ravager. Or The Blade, whatever.” She squeezed Becky’s hand a little tighter, gently rubbing their thumbs together. “And you know why I am. I do it to help people. If I'm back in Silverstone, I'm going to keep helping people. In the best way I know how.”

Becky was quiet a moment, staring at their held hands. With a slow nod, she said, “I figured. It's in your blood at this point, ah?”

“Pretty much. And I know that what I do isn't within the confines of the law, but it works. Most of the time. I'm just letting you know right now that I will be putting that costume back on, and I will be trying to help this city again. And I'll understand if you don't want to be a part of it.”

Another long pause, and Becky lifted their hands. With a subtle grin, she kissed the back of Rose’s knuckles. “Please, I'm already a part of it, just by keeping the secret. Besides, sleeping with you generally makes me more than a little complicit, ah?”

Rose snorted out a laugh, giving a grin of her own. “Good point. So, you're okay with it, then?”

“As long as you keep helping people and doing good,” she said, with a firm nod, “and tell me all about your nightly adventures, then yeah, I'm okay with it. I can even help you.”

“Help me how?” Rose turned a quizzical stare at the other woman. “Becky, I'm not going to take you along and put you in that kind of danger every night. No way.”

Becky chuckled. “I meant I'll keep the police off your back, at least until you build up your reputation again. They still haven't forgotten about you, remember.”

“Oh, right.” Rose grimaced a moment, thinking back to her last time running around Silverstone in costume. Yeah, the cops would definitely be wary of her return. “Thanks.”

“Speaking of which, you plan on coming back to the station? I have to say, I miss having you in the car with me.”

Rose hissed a sigh. Captain Palmer had said there’d be a position waiting for her if she ever decided to come back. Even so, after the time she’d spent in Nanda Parbat, she’d learned where she really belonged. What she really needed to focus on. “No. I thought about it, but I don't think I can really be a cop again and still do what I do. If I’m going to be Silverstone’s vigilante, I can’t be playing both sides of the fence. I have to be fully committed to being Ravager.”

“Suppose that makes sense,” Becky said. “But what are you going to do as a day job now?”

“I'm sure I'll think of something,” she replied. “Eventually. Right now, though, I'd rather concentrate on cleaning up some of the messes I left behind. It's time for the Blade to make her comeback.”

“Oh, about that-” Becky shifted upright in bed, turning over to focus her full attention on Rose- “There is something I should probably mention.”

Rose cocked an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“There’s been a lot of strange things going on around the city lately, and the station in particular. The bodies of mob bosses have been showing up all over the place, the investigations are being handled poorly, case files are blank, and then I've had both a ninja and a fellow cop try to kill me on two separate occasions.”

Rose lurched upright, holding herself up with her elbows planted against the mattress. “The fuck—are you alright? Who tried to kill you?”

“Oh I’m fine, yeah, no worries there. Nothing I couldn't handle. Some woman dressed as a ninja broke into my apartment and tried to stab me, but I got to my gun first.” Becky’s gaze darkened a moment, as though her thoughts drifted back to the moment in question. She sighed, and folded her arms. “And then there was Stevens—he tried to shoot me right in the middle of the station.”

_“Stevens?_ Seriously?”

Becky nodded. _ “Sí _ , and that's not even the strangest part about it. Right before he drew his gun on me, he said something about me getting too close, and that 'they' were watching me. Dunno who ‘they’ are, but freaked me out a little.”

Rose leaned closer, pulling Becky closer. “Well yeah, I don't blame you. Did they interrogate him, find out anything?”

“Oh they tried, yeah.” Becky sank into the embrace with a deep breath, setting her head against Rose’s shoulder. “But he insisted he couldn't remember anything. Don't really know where they took it from there, but you can bet he doesn't have a badge anymore.”

“Wow.” Rose let her gaze waver towards the mattress. “I mean, I knew Stevens was an odd one, but that? Not sure what to make of it.”

“All I know is that something is very wrong,” Becky said. “Something that isn't getting resolved the normal way.”

Rose grew a smirk, glancing to her partner with a raised eyebrow. “Why Becky, are you asking for my expertise?”

“Mm, so what if I am?”

“Don't worry,” Rose said, with a reassuring nod. “We'll figure it out. In the meantime, you're staying at my place.”

Becky grew her own smirk, flashing with mischief. “Hey now, we only just got together. Taking things a little fast, aren't we?”

“Very funny. I'm talking about your protection. My place is a lot safer than here.”

“Hmm, how much safer?” she said, bringing their lips closer together.

“Well, considering Batman built my security system...”

Becky snorted a laugh, falling back on the bed. “Alright, point made. In that case, you can help me move my things there tomorrow. On one condition.”

Rose narrowed her gaze, curiously. “And what's that?”

Springing up from the mattress, Becky rolled over on top of Rose, grabbed her wrists, and planted a long, heated kiss on her lips. When she pulled away, her grin grew wider. “Just that you don't plan on sleeping yet.”

* * *

Rose sat at the kitchen counter of her penthouse, pouring over the notes that Becky had made during the past month regarding the recent strange happenings. Becky sat next to her, flipping through a series of thick folders. They’d moved over some of her things to the penthouse earlier—mostly clothes and a few personal belongings, enough so she wouldn’t have to return to her apartment any time soon. As long as there were people out there trying to kill her, she’d be far safer here than her regular place.

“These notes are pretty extensive,” she said, tapping a pen against the table. “You've done a lot of work.”

“Yeah, it kept me pretty busy.” Becky scanned one of the numerous papers in the folder, before moving on to the next one. “Plenty of strange crap going on, and I'd bet my career it's all connected.”

“I don’t doubt it.” Rose pulled a photo into her grasp—a crime scene photo, depicting Becky’s bed with a woman dressed like a ninja sprawled across it, bleeding from the chest. “So the first person who attacked you was someone dressed like a ninja?”

_ “Sí _ .”

“Just like that guy we found in the warehouse, the last time we went on duty together. Definitely not a coincidence.”

Becky nodded. “He wasn't the only one we saw that day, remember. A couple of his buddies went and took him away.”

“Right,” Rose muttered. “And the man I fought later that night—Shao, I think his name was—mentioned something about that guy being one of their ' lesser members'. Question is, members of what?

“A super secret underground society of ninja assassins?” Becky suggested, flashing an amused grin.

Rose frowned, thinking back to some of her father’s old notes on the League of Assassins. “I wouldn't joke about that. There actually is one of those, and it's nowhere near as humorous as you'd think.”

Becky blinked, her brow lifting with surprise. “Oh. Well, maybe that's what we're dealing with?”

“It’s possible, although last I heard, the League of Assassins was basically at war with itself. Still, it’s something to consider.”

“Don't forget that freaky needle device you pulled out of the guy's head,” Becky added, with a disgusted shudder. “I wouldn't want one of those things drilled into my brain.”

Rose nodded, setting down the photo. “I haven't forgotten that, but I don't have any idea what it was. I've seen some scary kinds of tech in my day, so it could be anything. What I'm curious about is those two detectives you mentioned—Kubrick and Riggs. They're the ones handling the cases with the dead mob bosses, right?”

“Yeah, and they give off some super creepy vibes.” Becky folded her arms and sank in her seat, a thoughtful frown twisting across her face. “Considering the fact that all their case files I checked were mostly padded with blank forms, I'd say they're definitely involved somehow.”

“About those blank files—did you mention them to anyone?”

“Just Captain Palmer,” she said, with a small shrug. “He told me he'd look into it, but I haven't heard anything back from him yet.”

Rose tapped her chin, staring down at the notes in front of her. They had a whole lot of bread crumbs littered in front of them right now. Only question was: which one to follow first? “Alright, I think I know where to start.”

* * *

Ravager leaned over the edge of the rooftop, gazing down at the East District street below. Her target strolled along the sidewalk, blissfully unaware of her presence. The man puffed on his cigarette a few times before flicking the remaining butt onto the ground. As the distance between them grew, Ravager followed, leaping a full twenty feet through open air to land on the next rooftop. She hit the roof in a roll and popped back to her feet, frowning. Of course he’d have to pick a part of Silverstone where the rooftops weren’t conveniently spaced right next to each other. Been a while since she last had to jump so damn far.

“He's heading to the shadier part of town,” she said, keeping watch on the man over the side of the building. “I'm in pursuit now.”

A brief hiss of static crackled over her earpiece communicator. “Okay, yeah, copy. This setup is really cool, by the way.”

“Everything working?”

_ “Sí _ , everything looks good,” Becky said. Ravager had left her back in the penthouse, currently seated in front of a computer screen half the size of a wall. Assuming everything was functioning as it should, she’d be watching a large digital map of Silverstone City right now, tracking Rose’s GPS location. “You are the blinking dot, right?” 

Ravager chuckled. “Yeah, that's me.”

“Then yeah, it's good. Thanks again for letting me help.”

“I know it's not much, but I wasn't taking you out with me.”

Becky gave a knowing sigh. “I know, I know. Too dangerous. Not like I’d know how to be vigilante, anyway.”

“But at least if anything happens to me,” Ravager said, “you'll know right where I am.”

“I'd personally rather it not come to that.”

“I wouldn't worry.” Ravager grew a knowing smirk. “I'm good at what I do.”

“One of these days, though,” Becky said, “you're going to teach me some of those moves. No way am I going to date someone who can beat up a ninja and not learn a thing or two.”

Ravager’s smirk grew, as she descended into a nearby alley. “We'll see.” Peering out of the alleyway, she watched her target make his way across the street and enter a building. A glowing neon sign out front depicted the outline of a nude woman lounging playfully. Her gaze narrowed. “Huh, interesting.”

“What is it?” Becky asked.

“He just went into some place called The Fuego Lounge.”

“Oh, the strip club?”

Ravager’s brow lifted. “You know it?”

A long pause followed, before a Becky’s voice awkwardly crackled over the earpiece in response. “I, uh—I might have been a few times.”

“Oh yeah? Didn't take you as the type.”

“You mean the type to enjoy naked women?” Becky might have been on the other side of the city right now, but Rose could still sense her rolling her eyes. “No, definitely wouldn't make sense for me.”

“I meant the type to want to hang around a bunch of men ogling emotionless pin up dancers prancing around on stage and catering to the drunken pigs.”

“Ah, that really isn't a problem at The Fuego Lounge.”

“Why's that?”

“Because it's a lesbian strip club,” Becky said. “It caters specifically to gay and bisexual women. The atmosphere is completely different.”

“Oh.” Ravager scrunched her brow, staring back across the street. “Raises a pretty big question, then: what the hell is Detective Kubrick doing there?”

* * *

Ravager pushed the door open and peered inside. From what she could tell, the back entrance to the Fuego Lounge opened into a narrow hallway somewhere behind the dressing rooms. She heard voices farther down the hall, most likely the workers getting ready to perform. Easing herself inside, she closed the door behind her and moved quietly forward. Couldn’t afford to be discovered just yet.

“Good call on the back door,” Ravager said. “I'm in.”

Becky's voice crackled over the comm a second later. “Any sign of Kubrick yet?”

“No sign of anyone yet. I'm still in the back of the building, nothing much here except a few boxes and a coat rack.”

“Well, be careful in there. And please don't go spooking any of the girls. They're good people. I don't want you giving them a heart attack.”

Ravager paused, pressing a finger to her earpiece. “Only been here a few times, but you’re friendly with the workers, huh?”

“What—uh, n-no, I—”

“Smooth recovery.”

“Okay, I used to be a regular!” Becky exclaimed, with a dismayed groan. “It was a phase!  _ Qué mierda _ , what do you want from me?”

Ravager grinned widely to herself. “To hear you flustered.”

A pause, and then, “You're smirking right now, aren't you?”

“Maybe.”

Ravager stopped near the end of the hallway and peered around the corner. Several women in various states of dress wandered to and from some of the side rooms. Alright, new problem. Only way to get into the main part of the strip club now was to walk straight through the dressing rooms. Wasn’t going to get by unnoticed in her crime fighting suit. Time to improvise. Moving back behind the corner of the wall, she scanned the hallway. Her gaze fell on the nearby coat rack. Eureka. 

“Think I found a way in,” she said, removing a long coat from the rack.

Tugging off her mask, she stuffed it into the coat pocket, then removed her swords and hid them off to the side. Pulling the coat tightly around her form, she effectively concealed the entirety of her armored costume. Should help keep some suspicion off her at least. No obvious vigilante here.

Moving around the corner again, she walked straight through the dressing room corridor, keeping her head down. A couple women gave her passing glances, but she was gone before they could scrutinize her for more than a few seconds. Soon after, she pushed through a curtain and entered into the main area of the club.

She paused a moment to take in the atmosphere. Definitely not like any strip club she’d seen before. The music wasn't mind numbing, the patrons weren't rowdy, and everything seemed a lot calmer and laid back. Oddly relaxing, in a way. And yet, there were still three separate stages, each occupied with a scantily clad dancer and a strip pole. A small crowd of diverse women sat throughout the club watching, either near the stage or at tables, all while enjoying a drink or meal.

“Anything?” Becky asked.

“Not yet. I’m only seeing strippers and the women watching them.”

“Well it isn't that big a place. He’s got to be around there somewhere.”

“Wait, hold on.” Her gaze fell on a table in one of the corners of the room, way in the back. Detective Kubrick sat speaking with a woman wearing a red blouse and black skirt, with small, narrow glasses and blonde hair tied back in a braid. They appeared in deep discussion, leaning close to each other to keep their voices hushed. “Got eyes on him. He's talking to some woman.”

“Any way to hear what they're saying?”

Ravager shook her head. “Not without getting right up next to them.”

She sat at another table and waited. A server came by and asked if she wanted anything to drink, but she declined. Might not actually be a bad place to hang out for a drink sometime, but she was on the clock right now. Several minutes later, Kubrick and the woman got up from the table and made their way to the opposite side of the club. She watched them closely, as they disappeared through a door labeled EMPLOYEES ONLY next to the bar. A few seconds later, Ravager got up to follow. She waited until the bartender was distracted with another customer, and slipped through the door.

A long staircase greeted her on the other side, descending in what she had to assume was the basement area. She crept down the steps, pulling out her mask and slipping it back over her face. When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she shrugged off the coat and threw it behind a stack of boxes. Probably safe to go in costume now. With or without it, she wasn’t supposed to be down here either way. 

Ravager slowed to a stop when she heard voices coming from a door slightly ajar near the end of the hallway. Holding a finger to her ear piece, she whispered through her comm. “Going silent for a few minutes here.”

“Copy,” Becky replied. “Be careful.”

Remaining silent, she crept forward towards the door, pressed her back against the wall, and listened.

“And exactly how long after implantation did this occur?” A man’s voice—had to be Kubrick.

“About seventy-two hours, give or take a few,” the woman replied. “It worked fine before that, but then—well, you can see.”

Kubrick uttered an annoyed grunt “Looks like we keep running into problems. First I've heard about this particular one, though.”

The woman huffed a tired sigh. “You know I want to be involved, Michael, but I can't subject my girls to it if this is going to keep happening.”

“Believe me, Madelyn, we'll work on a fix. Faulty stems aren't good for the plans, anyway. Having puppets to control only works as long as the puppets can be used.”

“You come back with ones that work, and my girls are yours,” Madelyn assured. “Until then, I'm not going to keep exposing them to  _ this.” _

“Of course. I'll report back to Shen and give him the update.”

Ravager's eye narrowed at the mention of the name. Shao Shen—so he _was_ the one in charge. And Kubrick was involved. Good, now they were getting somewhere.

“You do that.” There was a pause, and then the sound of footsteps nearing the door. “I have to get back to work, in the meantime. Not to mention figure out how I'm going to clean up this mess.”

Ravager slinked along the corridor and slipped through another door a short ways away. She closed herself inside the room beyond—a storage closet, from the look of it—and waited. The footsteps grew louder, until they reached the hallway and continued past the closet. Within a short few moments, the footsteps reached the stairs and disappeared.

“Did you get all that?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Becky said. “Any idea what they were talking about?”

“Not a clue, but I get the feeling I'll have a better idea when I check out what's in that room.”

Ravager crept back out of the closet and made her way to the other room, where Kubrick and Madelyn had been talking. She closed the door behind her, plunging herself into pitch darkness. Fuck, where was the light? She fumbled at the wall for a few moments, until her fingers brushed against the switch. With a breath of relief, she flicked on the lights and looked around for whatever they’d been talking about. When she found it, she froze.

“Motherfucker.”

“What is it?” Becky asked. “Do you see anything?”

Cold numbness gripped her chest, slowly crawling into her throat. She tried to respond, but her words caught in her throat. The only thing she managed was to stare. She hadn’t expected anything pleasant waiting for her in this room, but this—this was sick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this certainly changes the dynamic. Not only are Rose and Becky now in a relationship, but Becky is on on the Ravager secret. And she's also acting as sort of a remote contact for when she's in the field, at least for the time being. And now we get to see them start to put together the pieces that first appeared in the previous arc, with Shao Shen and the random ninjas coming back into the picture. Rose might have left Silverstone for a time, but they've been busy that entire time, and there's no telling what kind of plans they're working towards.


	35. Ravager Rising #2: Fist of Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager discovers a grisly scene beneath the Fuego Lounge, but is able to interrogate the one responsible, leaving her with more bread crumbs to follow as she learns of the hidden faction of assassins working in Silverstone.

Ravager took a slow step forward. Her poise wavered a moment, but she swallowed down her growing nausea long enough to kneel in front of the scene. She’d seen worse things before. Not by much, granted, but she couldn’t afford to lose her cool now. Still had to inspect this mess.

“Rose?” Becky said, her voice crackling over a hiss of static on the earpiece. “Hey, you there?”

Ravager shook herself out of her daze. “Yeah, sorry. Just thinking.”

“Well, what is it? What do you see?”

“It's a body. I'll spare you the details.”

Becky paused, before whispering a tentative, “It's that bad?”

She swallowed again. “Yeah.”

The body belonged to a young woman—probably one of the club's dancers, judging from the conversation she’d overheard. The entire back of the woman's skull had split open like an overripe melon. Brain matter splattered in liquefied streaks across the floor, draining out over the tile in a bloody, sticky pool. The woman’s eyes had also disintegrated, oozing out of her head in the form of bloody, viscous tears. As far as Ravager could tell, this woman’s brain had melted—and then exploded.

Ravager eased closer, reaching out to turn the woman’s head for closer examination. At first glance, she saw nothing out of the ordinary—other than the gaping hole in the back of the victim’s head, at least. When she pulled back the woman’s ear, however, her gaze narrowed. “Interesting.”

“You find something?” Becky asked.

“There's a small hole just behind her ear. Same spot as that needle device I pulled out of the other guy's head.”

“Shit. You think whatever happened to her has something to do with those devices?”

She nodded. “Could be. My only concern is the purpose, though. They mentioned using people as puppets.”

“Wait, you don't mean like, mind control or something, do you?” Becky said. “Is that even a real thing?”

“We live in a world where people can fly, shoot lasers out of their eyes, and lift a jet-liner over their heads,” Ravager stated, lifting an eyebrow. “You seriously need to ask that question?”

“Well I don't know! I’m still new to this whole superhero thing. I don't know the kinds of stuff you deal with.”

“I know, I know.” Ravager sighed, lifting a hand to her forehead. “Sorry, I just—this whole situation is bizarre.”

“No kidding.”

“But to answer your question, yes, it could be some form of mind control. Doesn’t look like they've perfected it yet, though, judging from... _this.”_

Becky breathed a long sigh. “Would certainly explain why Stevens tried to kill me.”

“And why an otherwise normal guy was moonlighting—or daylighting, rather—as a ninja.” Ravager stood up, hands planted on her hips as she circled around the mess on the floor. Poor woman didn’t deserve this kind of horrific fate. “But the question is why? What are they trying to accomplish?”

She pulled out a miniature camera from one of the compartments on her belt, and began taking pictures of the scene. Any evidence was good evidence at this point, especially a dead body. She could add it to their notes and go from there. Plus, it would help them build a case to bring to Captain Palmer later. 

As she stood there clicking the camera, the door to the room opened. “What the hell?”

Ravager spun around with a sharp glare towards the door. Madelyn, the woman who had been speaking with Kubrick, stood there in the doorway. “Oh, uh—surprise health inspection?”

A furious scoff sprang from the woman’s throat, apparently unenthused at the attempted quip. “I know you—you’re the Blade. Thought you’d left Silverstone. What the hell are you doing here?”

“Shouldn't I be the one asking you that question?” Ravager said, tucking away her camera. She nodded towards the body on the floor. “You really should learn to clean up after your messes.”

“Wonderful,” Madelyn muttered, “now I have to hide _two_ bodies.”

Bolting from the doorway, Madelyn charged forward. Ravager smirked, nonchalantly shifting into a combat stance. Poor woman didn’t know what she was getting herself into. At the very least, she could provide some information after a little interrogation. 

Precognitive images flashed through her head. Ravager’s chest jolted at what she saw, and she immediately threw herself backwards. Half a second after she did, Madelyn swung her arm forward. The flesh along her forearm split and opened, allowing a cybernetic blade to spring forth and slice forward. The razor steel cut into the air inches from Ravager’s throat. Well shit—that was unexpected.

“Ay, what the hell is going on!” Becky shouted, her voice crackling into Ravager’s ear.

“Just a minute!” she replied, ducking below another slashing strike. “Little busy right now!”

Ravager darted to the side and reached behind her back, fingers clenching where her swords should have been. When she clutched empty air, she cursed. Right, fuck, she’d hidden them upstairs in the back hallway. That seriously complicated things. Madelyn charged again, this time thrusting the arm blade forward. Ravager stepped to the side and rushed inside the woman’s guard. She might be equipped with fancy cybernetics, but this woman was wild and undisciplined—likely never had any formal training. Easy enough to outmaneuver her.

With a lunge, Ravager tackled her to the floor. Another wild swing came in. Ravager ducked below it, then grabbed the woman’s arm. With a firm twist and yank, she snapped the limb as easy as snapping a twig. There was no crunch of bone, and no scream of pain, however—merely the metallic squeal of circuitry and cybernetics shattering. A fully robotic arm, huh? Neat. Too bad she had to go and destroy it.

Madelyn threw a punch with her other arm, but Ravager caught the fist. With all the effort of pushing a child, she threw the punch away and followed with a vicious headbutt to the face. Bone crunched. Madelyn reeled with a scream, blood spraying from her nostrils. For good measure, Ravager drove a knee into the woman’s gut, silencing her scream into a gasping puff of air.

“So, you want to try that again?” Ravager said, pressing her own arm against the woman’s throat. 

“Who—who the fuck—who do you think you are?” Madelyn sputtered, spraying a gurgle of blood from her lips. “You goddamn cu—”

She silenced the woman mid-sentence with a brutal elbow to her jaw. “I'm the goddamn Ravager. Remember it.”

Madelyn squealed, coughing out a whimpering cry of pain. “What do you—what do you want?”

“I want answers. And you're going to give them to me.”

* * *

Rose trudged through the door of her penthouse with a heavy sigh, already peeling off her Ravager mask as she entered. Talk about one hell of a night. With a stifled yawn, she made her way into the kitchen in search of a drink. Before she got halfway to the refrigerator, a pair of firm arms wrapped around her from behind and pulled her in. A much gentler kiss followed to her neck, eliciting a soft gasp of air from her throat.

“Welcome back,” Becky said.

Rose paused, turning her head to give Becky a proper kiss. “Thanks.”

“So, here's a question. This costume of yours-” Becky punctuated her statement by traveling her hands along the armored plates of the body suit- “How the heck you make it all the way up to the top floor of this building without anyone seeing you wearing it?”

Rose huffed quietly, as Becky’s grip tensed around the chestplate. “Easy—I take the elevator from the parking garage, brings me straight to this floor. Not too many people wandering around down there at three in the morning, and even if there are, I'm good at keeping out of sight.”

“Still sounds risky to me.”

“I've managed this far, haven't I?”

Becky smirked, planting another kiss on Rose’s cheek. “So you have. Anyway, what are we going to do about this? What that woman said...”

The woman Rose had interrogated—Madelyn Stravos, as she’d learned—had spilled some rather enlightening, not to mention unsettling, information. Although Madelyn didn't know many specifics, she did mention she’d been recently contacted by Michael Kubrick, an old friend of hers now working for a man named Shao Shen. He offered her a future position of power in exchange for a few favors, one of them being to offer up her workers as subjects to his new neural stem devices. These devices, which drilled directly into a person's brain, not only allowed control of the victim, but also increased biological functions—everything from cognitive senses to physical ability. As for what Shao was trying to accomplish through such means, Madelyn didn't know.

“We keep digging,” Rose said. “Whatever Shao is up to, I'm going to find out, and I’m going to stop him. Kubrick is still our best lead at the moment, so I'll keep following him, see what I can find.”

“Hey, you're not the only one who can do something here, you know.” Becky pulled away and folded her arms. “You're forgetting—I work at the same station as Kubrick. I can look in on him there.”

Rose shook her head. “No way. I'm not letting you get involved in this any more than necessary.”

Becky narrowed her eyes. “Then what would you have me do? Sit around here useless, talking to you over the radio at night? Come on, Rose, let me help you.”

“They've already tried to kill you twice! How about we not give them more reason to target you?”

“Rose, my life is already at risk everyday just by being a cop. Every time I put on that uniform, I know it might be the last. This isn't any different. Not to mention—you can't run around as Ravager during the day. That's a whole sixteen hours you aren't investigating. Please, let me do what you can't.”

Rose leaned back against the kitchen counter with a deep sigh. Becky did have a point. Rose wasn’t a cop anymore, which meant she couldn’t use police resources to help her investigations. With Becky working in the same station as Kubrick, she had close, personal access. That kind of connection would be useful. Plus, she knew Becky well enough to know she couldn’t talk her out of it, no matter what she said. If Becky wanted to help, she’d help.

“Alright, fine,” she said, with a relenting wave of her hand. “Just please be careful, alright?”

Becky smiled, and leaned in for another kiss. “I'll be careful, promise. Now, come to bed.”

* * *

Becky slipped into the office when no one was looking. She shut the door behind her, paused, and listened. Nothing. So far, so good. No telling how much time she had, though. Kubrick had left to investigate another case a while ago, but for all she knew he could be back any minute. Would be pretty difficult to explain what she was doing in his office. Wasting as little time as possible, she sat in front of the desk and turned on the computer. Alright, time to put her new toy to work.

As soon as the login screen appeared, she plugged the USB drive into the PC. A red light blinked on the device, followed by a rippling distortion on the screen. From what Rose had told her, this device was a special tool courtesy of Batman himself—a modified program of advanced alien tech that could decode and decrypt any kind of security system. Worked well on hacking into personal computers, too. Within seconds, the screen flickered and the desktop appeared. Beautiful.

Finding anything useful while sitting there in the limited time she had, however, was a different story. She couldn’t very well go sitting there opening random folders hoping to get lucky. No, had to hope she had enough time to copy everything. Her wonderful new toy also included the ability to copy a complete, virtual duplicate of any PC. With a bit of luck, she’d have everything from his emails to his porn in a few minutes.

Well, hopefully not his porn. Really didn’t want to accidentally go digging through that.

As Becky initiated the copy sequence, the sound of voices faded in from down the hall. She snapped a look towards the closed door. Didn’t sound like Kubrick, but couldn’t take any chances. Please be quick, please be quick. She eyed the progress bar intently. Twenty-five percent, fifty percent, seventy-five percent—so much faster than any ordinary technology could accomplish, and yet still the process dragged on as though taking an eternity. When the progress finally hit one hundred percent, she removed the device from the computer and darted towards the office door. By now, the voices had reached just outside. As long as one of them wasn’t Kubrick, she could wait for them to go by and then leave before anyone—

The door swung open. While one of the officers the voices had belonged to continued on down the hall, the other cut out when the man saw her. Not Kubrick—Detective Riggs, his partner, standing there in the doorway staring her dead in the eyes. Becky’s heart skipped a beat, as Riggs slowly closed the door behind him. Okay, okay, not good. Still, not the end of the world. She could talk her way out of this.

“What are you doing in here?” he said, his glare narrowing at her. Ah, so he did speak after all. Good to know.

“Oh, I was just—I was looking for Detective Kubrick,” she said, with cautious steps around the man. The closer she could move towards the door without him getting between her, the better.. “Was just—I wanted to see if he wanted to grab dinner sometime. Yeah.”

Riggs raised an eyebrow. “I don't think he'd be interested.”

“Oh, no, sure he would. I mean, come on, we’re both good looking, we have a great connection, and—”

“He's married.”

Well, crap. Becky swallowed a growing knot in her throat, while scurrying closer to the door. Riggs didn’t move to stop her, but he never relaxed his glare. “Oh, ha, imagine that. Guess I don't need to worry about it, then. I'll just be going.”

Without looking back, Becky flung the door open and darted into the corridor beyond. Real smooth. _Super_ smooth. How in the world did she not notice Kubrick wore a wedding ring? Not like the excuse would have been much stronger either way. Oh, she was so not cut out for that kind of thinking on her feet. Still, she’d got what she came for. With a little luck, maybe she and Rose would discover something useful.

* * *

Rose hovered over the computer, closely examining the files from Kubrick’s PC. Becky paced behind her, biting at her nails—lingering nerves over being caught by Detective Riggs. Still, as long as she was in Rose’s penthouse, they couldn’t get to her. Time to focus on what they’d learned, instead.

“So, I do some good or what?” Becky said, with a forced chuckle. After biting off as much as she could on one nail, she moved to another.

“More than good,” Rose said, with a nod. “This has everything we need. At least enough to give us some solid leads.” 

Becky stopped biting her nail for a moment, exhaling a relieved sigh. “Ah, okay, good. Was worried I went and got myself caught for nothing.”

They’d found what they needed buried in Kubrick’s deleted emails. They didn’t give a complete story, but they certainly painted a better picture than what they’d had before. From what she could gather, Kubrick was never really a member of the Silverstone City Police. At least, not as an actual cop. He was a sleeper agent of sorts, working for an organization called the Fist of Shadows. While the emails didn’t go into many details, they did hint at some of their plans.

“Looks like they’re killing off mob bosses to take control of organized crime in the city,” Rose muttered, narrowing a glare at the screen. “Weeding out the competition, so to speak. Then they use those neural stems to sink their fangs even deeper and gain control. Problem is, the devices aren't ready yet, which is why they've been testing them on nobodies. Until they can make stems that don't fail, malfunction, or otherwise kill their victims, they're not attempting to advance their plans.”

Becky stopped her pacing and leaned over the back of Rose’s chair. “Do I even want to ask what those plans are?”

“I can make a few guesses.” Rose paused, tapping a finger against the desk. “Hold on, I have to make a call.”

Closing out of the folders, she opened her video conferencing software and put out a call to Gotham. It wasn’t too late—maybe he hadn’t gone out yet. Several minutes later, the screen flickered on, revealing the stern, fully cowled face of Batman staring back at her.

“Good, you're still there,” she said.

“Caught me just as I was heading out,” Batman replied. “What is it?”

“Whoa.” Becky leaned closer over Rose's shoulder, her eyes going wider. “I still can't believe you're friends with Batman. That's actually really cool.”

Batman's gaze narrowed. “Who's that?”

“Oh! _¡Lo siento!_ Forgot to introduce myself.” Becky cleared her throat and stood straighter. She seemed uncertain what to do with her hands for a moment, eventually settling on giving a salute. “Officer Rebecca Chavez. It's a real, um—It’s an honor to meet you. Mr. Batman. Sir.”

Even behind the cowl, Rose could sense Batman’s eyebrow raising. “Just Batman, is fine. I've heard about you, though, Rebecca. Glad to see you two worked things out.”

Becky grinned, holding an arm around Rose's shoulder and giving a brief kiss to her cheek. “Oh, we more than worked it out.”

Rose flinched, quickly averting her gaze away from the screen. Welp, hadn’t quite been intending to tell Dick about that yet, but oh well. Too late now.

“I see...” Batman paused, his gaze shifting back and forth between the two women. “So, what is this about?”

“Just a question,” Rose said. “What can you tell me about a group called the Fist of Shadows?”

Batman hummed a thoughtful breath. “Fist of Shadows... sounds familiar. Let me check.”

His fingers flew across the keyboard, no doubt putting that Batcomputer of his to its fullest use. Rose had no idea what kind of secret files Batman had on hand, but if anyone could dig up information on a random group of underground ninja assassins, it was him. A few minutes into his search, Batman leaned closer to the screen with a frown. “Interesting...”

“What is it?”

“According to my records, the Fist of Shadows is a sub-sect of the League of Assassins,” he explained. “When the main group began warring with itself for control of leadership, a smaller collection of members broke off for good and began their own organization—the Fist of Shadows. I don't have much information on them, since I haven't come across them myself. From what I do know, they hold similar beliefs as their former allies, but go about it in different ways.”

Rose held a hand to her chin. “Don't suppose the name Shao Shen is familiar?”

“Afraid not.”

“Well, add it to your records. I'm pretty sure he's the leader of this Fist of Shadows.”

“I'll add the name,” he replied, typing his fingers across the keyboard. “Before I go, do you want any help dealing with this? I can have someone on the way tonight.”

Rose shook her head. “Not yet. So far, things are pretty under control. If I do need help, I'll call again.”

“Alright, then. I'll leave you to it. I have to get going.”

As Batman reached for the button to cut the call, Rose sat up and raised her hand in sudden protest. “Wait, hold on!”

Batman paused. “Yes?”

“How, uh—How's Holly doing? Is she okay?”

At this, Batman offered a small, barely noticeable smile. “She's doing well. Looking forward to seeing you again, too.”

A wave of relief washed over her. Sinking into her seat, she gave a nod and said, “Yeah, I'll be there soon as I finish up this case. Tell her I said hi.”

“Will do,” Batman said, giving a firm nod. A second later, the screen went blank

Becky raised a thoughtful brow. “Interesting guy, that Batman. Not as scary as I would have thought.”

“Should have seen the first one,” Rose said, with a small laugh. “Anyway, time for me to get a move on. I get the feeling it's going to be another long night.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet again, having Batman on speed dial has a lot of perks. Not to mention having him supplying your gear. Not a whole lot going on in this chapter, as it's mostly some more investigating, but Rose and Becky have learned a few important things, which should lead them deeper into whatever tangle the Fist of Shadows has on the city.


	36. Ravager Rising #3: Werewolf In Silverstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager continues to tail Detective Kubrick to learn more information about the Fist of Shadows, only to find out she might have bit off a bitten more than she can chew.

Michael Kubrick huffed in annoyance, as he stepped out of the dry cleaner's onto the sidewalk. Another malfunctioning stem. Just fantastic. That was _not_ what he wanted to deal with right now. His boss was already getting impatient at the slow development. They needed better results, something they could use without running the risk of killing half the people they implanted. Their technicians were working as quickly as they could, but lo and behold, developing new technology to control a person’s brain functions wasn’t easy.

In the meantime, Kubrick had to keep other people's noses out of their business—Rebecca Chavez, for example, a woman who didn't know when to quit. One would think that after two attempts on her life, she’d learn to leave well enough alone, but she kept coming back and interfering. Snooping around his office was the last straw. Now, she had to be dealt with.

Kubrick stopped to wait at a crosswalk, when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, looking briefly at the name, and muttered to himself. Oh joy. More great news, no doubt.

“What is it?” he asked, in a low whisper.

The voice that came over on the other end was calm, and yet at the same time carried an ice-like quality to it—smooth, sinister, and chilling all at once. Should have been used to it by now, but every time was like the first. “You’ve been having problems, I hear.”

“No,” he said, as he hurried across the street. “Things are coming along fine. It's just—”

“When will they be ready?” The words pierced like knives, in spite of how relaxed they were.

Kubrick sighed. “ I don't know. We keep coming across more problems than we anticipated.” The voice on the other line started again, but Kubrick quickly followed with, “Yes, we're working on solving them. And yes, I've been careful.”

“We’re already running behind schedule, Kubrick. I hired you because of your unique talents. Because I thought you were a man who could get things done. Don’t make me lock you back in the kennel where I found you.” And there it was—a combination of insult and menace, subtle yet distinct enough to chill even someone like Kubrick to the core. “And be sure _he_ doesn’t find out.”

“I assure you, sir, Shao doesn't suspect a thing. The stems will be completed eventually, and as long as he believes I'm working for him, you'll get what you want.”

“Good. See to it that progress continues. I expect results by the end of the week.” And with that thinly veiled threat, the call cut out.

Kubrick stuffed his phone back into his pocket and turned into an alley. Scary bastard, his employer. His stomach churned, growling with sudden hunger. Fuck, could eat a horse at this rate. Would have to find a bite after this meeting. Stopping outside a small door, he glanced over his shoulder. Tucked away in a back alley smack in the middle of the shitty part of Silverstone, this place went unnoticed to the general public. But not to him. No, to him, this place was all too familiar. When he was certain no one else was around to see, he gave the front of the door two knocks. A small slot on the front of the door slid open a second later, revealing a pair of eyes staring at him.

“The sound of winter is cold,” Kubrick said.

A completely nonsensical phrase, but then passwords didn’t have to make sense. Got him through the door, anyway. When the door opened, he gave the man inside a quick nod and made his way down the stairs. When he reached the bottom, Kubrick emerged into one of the least known places of the city. At first glance, it was no different from a normal pool hall. Spend a little longer here, and you might come to know it as a haven for some of the lowest scum in Silverstone—thieves, mobsters, murderers, rapists, and so much more. Of course, that was only if they were lucky enough to find it, let alone be allowed inside. If you wanted in, the Silverstone City underworld had better know your name.

Kubrick strolled by a group of men playing pool towards the bar. A woman with a shaggy crop of dark hair stood behind the counter, watching him with a half-smirk as he approached. She wore torn, low cut jeans, and a half-shirt one size too small, exposing damn near as much skin as possible. Maybe it was just to show off the canvas of tattoos that traced across nearly every inch of her body, or maybe it was just to drive him wild. Either way, he’d always loved her for it. 

“Well, well, look who's back,” she said, her smirk growing into a delighted grin. “Just couldn't stay away, now could you?”

“You know me, Zaria. Once I get a taste...” 

Kubrick’s gaze wandered. Oh, she knew how to entice him, the way she leaned to one side with her hips cocked, the V in her shirt hanging just low enough to tease the right amount of cleavage. If looks could kill, she’d have offed him a long time ago. Even the subtle way she flexed as she stood there, making sure to show off the tone of her muscles—muscles she knew damn well how to use. Not to mention, she was like him—special. He’d once seen her lay waste to an entire room full of guys just because she was bored. _Bored!_ Normally, he'd only do something like that when he was hungry, but she was something else entirely. What he wouldn’t give to bend her over the bar right there.

“Oh I know.” Zaria leaned forward, spreading a playful smirk across her face. “You always come back for seconds.”

Kubrick let out a gruff laugh. “A little beyond seconds, aren't we?”

“Hmm, so we are,” she said, straightening her posture. “Best not let the missus hear that, though.”

Kubrick uttered an indifferent grunt, sinking onto one of the stools in front of the bar. He rested his elbows against the counter, holding a hand over his wedding ring, as though it would suddenly disappear. “All part of the cover, Zee. Only thing Stacy is good for is keeping the house clean, and even then not so much. You know damn well your beautiful ass is the only one I’ve ever needed.”

Zaria grinned wider. “Keep talking like that, and I might just let you have it. Now, did you come down here to flatter me, or did you want something?”

“You know why I'm here.” Kubrick narrowed a stern glare. “Just letting you know the offer is still on the table. What I'm working on right now—it's big. Life changing big. I want you there with me when shit hits the fan.”

“Ah, right, the big plan. I told you I'd think about it.”

“And you've been thinking for a while.”

Zaria turned from him, and grabbed a nearby washcloth. “That's because I haven't made up my mind yet.”

“I'm offering you something more out of life, Zee. We won't have to hide anymore when this is done. We can be who we are. We can be _what_ we are. And no one will be able to stop us.”

Zaria sighed, as she began wiping down the bar with the washcloth. “You know I'm perfectly content with what I have now.”

“And what do you have, really?” Kubrick frowned, glancing back over his shoulder at the other patrons. “An underground hangout infested by these cattle? That's all they are—food. Yet we're forced to hide from them.”

“Yes, well those cattle also pay my bills,” she insisted. 

“Work with me, and you'll never have to worry about paying bills again.”

“Like I said, I'll think about it.” Throwing the washcloth over her shoulder, she folded her arms and gave him a hard stare. “Now, you want a drink or not?”

Kubrick grumbled, tapping his fingers on the counter top. “I’ll take a beer. You know my brand.”

* * *

Ravager stopped outside the grime-covered door hidden away at the back of the alley. Strange place to be hanging out in the middle of the night, but who was she to judge? If this was where Kubrick wanted to spend his time, more power to him. Wouldn’t help him any. A slot near the top of the door slid open when she knocked. A pair of beady eyes stared out at her, narrowing when they saw her mask.

“Password?” the man said, his tone dripping with mocking skepticism.

“Sorry, I’m not on the list.” No point in trying to talk her way in. Time for the good old fashioned brute force approach. Before the man could reply, she spun and delivered a thunderous kick to the door. It flew from its hinges, crashing into the man standing behind it. A low grunt puffed from his throat when he hit the ground. Poor guy tried to throw the door off himself to get back up, but Ravager put him down with a solid strike to the head. “Now, let’s see what this place is hiding.”

Her earpiece crackled with a familiar voice. “Just be careful, ah?”

“Always am, Beck.”

She came to the top of a set of stairs, the dull chatter of voices drifting up from below. Well, sounded like quite the hangout. Cracking her neck from side to side, Ravager stretched out her arms and then took a running leap. She flew down the entirety of the stairs, landing in a crouch on one knee at the bottom. The voices stopped. The place looked like a makeshift pool hall, complete with a fully stocked bar. Three men stood around a pool table in the middle of a game, while another couple stood in front of a dart board. Four separate tables were occupied with other patrons, with more seated at the bar.

Ravager smirked, standing straight and cracking her knuckles. “Evening, everyone. Hope I’m not interrupting.”

“Shit, it’s the Blade!” one of the men at the pool table shouted.

The man next to him took his pool stick like a club and charged forward. “Don’t just stand there, get her!”

Not wasting any time rolling out the welcome mat for her, huh? Fine by her. The man swung his club with a furious shout. Poor bastard. Yet another idiot thug to add to her list of people she’d brutalized. Her arm shot out like lightning, snatching the incoming pool stick from the air and tearing it out of the man’s grasp. Taking it in both hands, she snapped the wood in two, then beat him across the face with both halves. He fell to his ass, blood gushing out his nose. Two more men ran at her, but they didn’t do much better. With another pair of quick strikes, they crumpled.

She turned a glare towards the rest of the room. “Anyone else want a go?”

A beat of awkward silence stretched through the bar, before the remaining patrons all scrambled out of their seats and made a run for the exit. She let them go—wasn’t here for them, anyway. At least for once they were being smart. If you’re an average criminal nobody, you don’t fuck with a superhero.

Ravager focused on the one man still sitting at the bar, his back turned as he hunched over a bottle of beer. “Michael Kubrick?”

He turned on his stool, taking one last swig of his beer before tossing the bottle away. “Well, well. To what do I owe the pleasure of the infamous Blade herself calling me out? Thought you’d left Silverstone.”

“Yeah, well, decided to come back.”

Behind the counter, a heavily tattooed woman slammed her fists on the bar. “What the hell do you think you’re doing! The fuck gives you the right to barge in here and attack my customers?”

“Technically, I only attacked the guy at the door,” she said. “The others attacked me.”

The woman leaped halfway over the counter, an almost inhuman snarl surging from her throat. “I’ll bleed you like a pig!”

Kubrick raised a hand to stop her. “Zaria, calm yourself.

The woman called Zaria shot him a furious glare. “But she—”

“I'll handle it, Zee. Relax.”

Zaria uttered another guttural snarl, before finally returning behind the bar. “Fine. Just be quick about it. And try not to make too much of a mess.”

“Thanks for calling off your attack dog,” Ravager said, firing a smug grin at the man. “Didn’t want to waste my time with her. You’re the one I’m here to talk to.”

“Oh, you wanna talk?” Kubrick took a step forward, rolling up his sleeves. “Sure, we can talk. But first, I'm gonna grab a bite to eat, if you don't mind.”

“Wasn't really planning on waiting around for you to order a meal.”

“Don't worry about that.” A slow, wicked grin crawled across his face. “You won't have to wait long.”

Ravager glared at the man. Talking about wanting a meal? Seemed like odd combat banter, but whatever. Wouldn’t faze her. Neither would his weirdly overconfident smirking. After all, he was a normal guy, same as the mooks she’d crippled a few minutes ago. This wouldn’t take long. A few well placed punches, maybe a broken kneecap, and she could start interrogating him for more information on Shao Shen and the Fist of Shadows. 

A pained grunt surged from Kubrick’s throat. He hunched forward, teeth clenched, and wrapped his arms around himself. A pulse quivered through his arms, and his muscles bulged. He groaned fiercer, and his muscles went into spasms, exploding outward with rapidly increasing mass. Fabric shredded. His shirt tore to ribbons, spilling away from his form as little more than useless strips of cloth to reveal his bare, bulging torso. A torso that began to sprout fine, thick hairs. No, not hairs. _Fur_. it grew in thick tufts across his skin, until it covered every square inch of his body. His pants tore away seconds later, his thighs now far too large to fit the jeans he’d been wearing. The transformation quickened. Kubrick grew another two feet in height, now screaming with animalistic rage as the sound of snapping bones and lengthening limbs echoed through the bar. His face elongated and narrowed into a distinct, animal-like snout filled with pointed, razor teeth. Claws grew from his fingers, completing the change. Kubrick the man was gone. In his place stood something entirely different. A beast, A monster. A…

Oh. Oh fuck.

Ravager took a slow step backwards, reaching with both hands to grab at her swords. “Uh, hey, Becky?”

Becky’s voice returned over the earpiece. “Yeah?”

“How's your knowledge on werewolves?”

There was a pause, followed by a rather confused, “Um, pretty limited? Why?”

She drew both her swords. “Because I'm pretty sure there's one standing right in front of me.”

“There's—wait, what?”

Kubrick blitzed her with a howling snarl. In half a breath, he charged across the entire bar with a lunging swipe of his claws. The flash of precog went off in her head, but she didn’t need it to tell her to get the fuck out of the way. She darted backwards, ducking below the sweeping clawstrike. Kubrick lunged a second time, and again she dodged. The werewolf’s arm struck the pool table, causing the entire thing to rupture in a shower of splinters. Kubrick howled, and pressed his attack.

“Yeah, about your detective buddy, Kubrick?” Ravager ducked and countered with a pair of slashes. Razor metal cut into flesh, but the wounds did little to slow Kubrick down. He roared, and pounced at her, forcing her to roll behind a table for cover. “He's a werewolf! Or a shapeshifter. Or—or something!”

Kubrick threw aside the table she was hiding behind with all the effort of tossing a dinner plate. Spittle dripped from his fangs, lips curled back. When he spoke, his voice carried a deep, bestial rumble. “ I will rip the heart from your chest!”

“Yeah, I don't think so,” she replied, darting around another claw strike.

Ravager sprang forward with a vicious kick to the wolf’s face, putting behind every ounce of strength she could muster into it—a blow that probably would have punted a normal man’s head clean off. In this case, the only thing she accomplished was making Kubrick angrier. He snarled, and lashed out his hand—paw?—to grab her ankle before she could retract her leg. 

She thrust one of her blades into his side, sinking several inches of sharpened Promethium alloy between his ribs. Kubrick merely growled, and tossed her through the air as though a child tossing away a used toy. She managed to twist herself midair to control her fall, landing in a roll until she came to a stop, but that didn’t solve her wolf problem. Still had to figure out how to deal with that.

“So, does that transformation come with or without fleas?” she asked.

Kubrick charged on all fours. He leaped at her, but she rolled beneath his grasp. In the same motion, she sliced upwards with both blades, tearing open two long gashes along his midsection. Blood streaked the air. The werewolf landed awkwardly, smashing into the floor and slamming into a wall, but he wasn’t down for long. Kubrick sprang back to his feet and whirled around to face her, bloodlust pulsing in his slitted, yellow eyes. He swiped at her again, but she ducked and countered with another cut, this time slicing into the tendon at his elbow. The wolf howled, stumbling backwards clutching at the wound. Werewolf or not, that would leave a mark.

Ravager spun her blades back into position for another strike. “Alright, so are you ready to talk, or do I have to keep going all 'Van Helsing' on you?”

Should have paid attention to her surroundings. So damn focused on the werewolf, she didn’t notice the next attack until her precog went off. She lunged to get out of the way, but she was too slow—blade-like claws sliced clean through the side of her costume, ripping gashes through the armored plating. Heated fire lashed across her abdomen, as her blood sprayed into the air. She grunted, swallowed the pain. The wound wasn’t too bad—could still fight through it. A second slower, though, and her intestines would have been painting the floor.

“You never should have come here!” Zaria shrieked, her voice wild and distorted.

Ravager dropped one of her swords to clutch at her wound, while turning a sharp glare towards the woman—or at least, the person who used to be a woman. While still feminine in appearance, most of her features had changed. Zaria's skin had become bright blue in color, now covered with what looked like tiny scales, while her mouth had widened and grown multiple rows of sharp, spiny teeth, like a shark. Her body had grown too, towering ten feet tall with twice as much rippling muscle as before. Most of her clothes shredded off as a result, revealing a set of spiny ridges along her spine, and a long, whipping tail growing out of her backside.

Ravager gawked at the beast. “What the fuck are you supposed to be?” 

The only answer she got was an angry, shrieking growl, as the she-beast lunged with another wild swing of her claws. Ravager dodged, and countered her sword. The blade struck air. Zaria shifted out of the way, ducking and weaving in for another strike—far more agile than Kubrick. She crashed atop Ravager, pinning her to the floor. Okay, fuck, not good.

Ravager struggled beneath the grip, as Zaria opened her mouth of shark-like teeth. With a firm tug, she freed one of her arms in time to flip around her sword and put it between her throat and the incoming bite. Zaria’s jaw clamped around sharpened Promethium with a force that shattered the blade, showering the air with razor shards. With a shrieking wail, she reeled backwards, blood gushing from her mouth.

As soon as the grip on her shoulders loosened, Ravager rolled out from beneath the monster and flipped back to her feet. Just in time for a thunderous force to plow into her midsection, as Kubrick body-checked her airborne. She hit a wall and her vision flashed with colors, crashing into the next room beyond.

Fucking. Ow.

Ravager blinked the world back into focus, head spinning. A dark form lunged through the hole in the wall at her—Kubrick. He landed on top of her and gnashed his teeth at her throat. Fuck, not good! In sheer desperation, she put her arm between her and the bite. Powerful jaws clamped around her forearm, teeth ripping through the armored plating. Meat and blood tore free into the air. Ravager swallowed her scream. Her other hand fumbled against the ground, searching for her broken sword. When her fingers found the hilt, she swung it upward. 

The shattered blade ripped into the werewolf’s throat, tearing open a chunk of flesh where a normal man’s jugular would have been. Kubrick roared, and stumbled backwards. He tugged the broken blade free of his throat and threw it aside, but already his form had begun to shrink. Fur retreated beneath his flesh, and his muscles retracted, his face returning to a normal man’s. Good. No more wolf problem. Still a shark monster, though, and she was in no position to press her luck. While Kubrick choked on his own blood, Ravager hobbled to her feet and slipped away.

* * *

Kubrick gagged, sinking to his knees with his hands held to his own throat. Blood gushed between his fingers. A grievous wound, for certain, but it wouldn’t be fatal. Not for someone like him. Still, it hurt like a motherfucker. He coughed and choked, spitting out mouthfuls of blood onto the floor beneath him. That fucking bitch! He’d kill her! Tear her apart! Rip out her heart and eat in front of her! 

Zaria staggered into view at his side. She spat out a large mouthful of blood, and helped him to his feet. “Michael! We have to get you to a hospital.”

“I'll be fine!” he growled. Already, he could feel his flesh knitting together. 

“You will not be fine. You're bleeding too much, and you don't heal as fast in this form. At least let me patch you up.”

With a furious grumble, he pushed her away. She was right, of course. In his wolf form, he could heal a wound like this in a matter of minutes. Hard to maintain that form in this kind of pain though, outside a full moon. “Fine. Still keep a change of clothes in the back?”

“Of course.”

“Good, grab them.” Kubrick made his way to the shredded remains of his pants and pulled his gun free of its holster. “I'm going to finish taking care of our problem.”

He stalked back towards the giant hole in the wall, gun cocked. The room was empty—no sign of the wretched woman. “Fuck!” He beat his fist against the wall, growling beneath his breath. Fucking wonderful. Not they had another loose end to deal with.

* * *

Ravager collapsed against the rooftop with a grunt. Fuck, she was losing blood. Not too much, thankfully. While her armor had been torn through like paper, at least it had offered _some_ protection. The wounds weren't too severe—they'd heal quick enough. But it hurt. A _lot_. These weren't normal wounds. She'd had plenty of cuts and gashes before, but these—they burned. Like fire. _Worse_ than fire. Fucking hell, why did it have to be an actual werewolf and...whatever that shark bitch was? No way she could have prepared for that.

As she took in a few sharp breaths, the radio hissed against her ear. Becky's voice shouted over the comm, practically deafening her. “Rose! Are you there? What the hell happened!”

“Got torn up by a couple of monsters, that's what happened,” she muttered.

“So, you're serious? A fucking _werewolf?”_

“Yeah, and some kind of demonic shark-lizard-alien _thing._ I swear, if I run into a sparkly vampire next, I'm gonna be _really_ pissed.”

“Ay, this is insane,” Becky said. “Are you alright?”

Ravager grunted with indifference. “I'll live. Might need some patchwork, though.”

“I'll have the first aid kit ready. Just—huh?” Becky's voice cut out in silence.

Ravager held a finger to her ear. “Becky?”

“Oh, no, no, no, don't— _¡Carajo!_ Okay, uh, I'm not sure what happened but I think some kind of virus just got into your system."

“What do you mean?”

"I don't know, but the computer got all garbled and then it blue screened and it won't come back on. The radio still works, but I don't know if—" Becky paused, muttering something in Spanish. "Okay, and now the power's out."

Furrowing her brow, Ravager looked across the neighborhood into the distance. Silverstone Residential Tower was just visible form where she was on the edge of Midtown, but where she should have seen a building awash with dotted lights from half the windows, she instead saw a stone cold tower of ink darkness. “If something happened to the power, the building's backup generator should have come on. And if it didn't, my security system's generator should have kicked in.”

“Well there's no—ow!” Becky shouted in pain, a tirade of Spanish curses streaming from her lips. “I do _not_ remember that chair being there!”

“Alright, just hold on,” Ravager said, taking off into a sprint. Fuck, she really needed a new ride. Hadn't got the chance yet since she totaled her last bike when running from the Silverstone police. “I'm not far. Be there soon.”

“Do you have any candles or anything? I could really use—” Her words cut out again.

Ravager's heart jolted, but she forced to relax. Probably just a glitchy signal. Or the radio had died. The sound of a gun cocking shot her heart back into her throat. “What the hell is going on, Becky?”

"Someone's here. I can hear them."

Ravager sprinted faster, nerves alight. Her security was meant to have countermeasures. And countermeasures to those countermeasures. That was why it had its own backup power source separate from the building. If whoever was infiltrating her penthouse had found a way around that, it didn't matter how advanced the system was—no power meant no security. But who? Couldn't be Kubrick—she'd left him bleeding back at the bar, no way he could have gotten to her apartment already. Had they come for Becky? How would they have even known to find her there? “You see anyone and you shoot them, got it? I'm on my way now, I'll—”

Two gunshots went off over her earpiece. A pained grunt followed, amongst the crashing of furniture. A third gunshot. Glass shattered somewhere in the background. Then, static. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Ravager pushed herself faster. Please be okay. Please let her get there in time!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's where Rose finds herself in a bit over her head. Ninja assassins she can handle, but werewolves and shark monsters? That's something she doesn't have a whole lot of experience with. But hey, it'll be great practice, right?


	37. Ravager Rising #4: Dish Served Cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager taps into her growing precognitive abilities once again, in desperate hope of locating Becky after she's taken captive by the twisted Detective Riggs.

Ravager crashed through the front door of her penthouse. The power had returned a few minutes ago, giving a clear view of the mess the apartment was in. Furniture lay in shambles, tables and chairs overturned. Drawers had been ripped out of cabinets. Glassware shattered. Either whoever had broken into the place had been looking for something, or Becky had given them a damn good fight. Heart pulsing into her throat, she continued to her bedroom, finding much the same mess.

Becky's gun lay on the ground, three shell casings nearby. Ravager knelt down to examine it, then looked behind her, towards the door. Three bullet holes in the wall. So Becky had missed whoever she was aiming at. But she’d still given the attacker hell, judging from the scene. Regardless of how well she’d fought back, though, Becky was still gone. 

That was both good news and bad news. Good news was, they wouldn’t have taken Becky if they meant to kill her right away. If they’d meant to do that, her body would be lying in the penthouse. Bad news was that whoever had taken her meant to hurt her first.  _ Then  _ probably kill her. Ravager’s thoughts flashed back to Nanda Parbat, focusing on the vision she’d had of Becky tied to a chair, beaten and tortured for information. Her heart pulsed again. She’d come back to stop her vision from coming true. Instead, she might have caused it.

Fuck that. She was not losing Becky. Not today, not ever. Whatever it took, she’d get her back. First thing’s first, though. Ravager stumbled into the bathroom and fished around the medicine cabinet for a first aid kit. Had to patch herself up before running off again. She’d already lost more blood on the run over here than any normal person should. She worked as fast as she could, peeling off her armored suit to get to the wounds beneath. 

The gashes along her abdomen weren’t too deep, and were easy enough to bandage. Her forearm had the worst of it. Kubrick had mangled it, tearing a massive chunk out and crunching the bone beneath. She’d have to have it treated better in the future if the damn thing was going to heal properly, but for now she could settle for cleaning it and wrapping it tight enough to stop the bleeding. Her hands shuddered as she worked. The pain burned hotter than before. Not just like fire anymore—molten magma, searing through her flesh.

When she finished the shoddy patchwork, she pulled her armor back on and limped into the middle of her penthouse. Biggest problem right now—she didn’t know where to start looking. Whoever had taken Becky had a good head start, and she had no way of knowing where they’d gone. No power at the time of the abduction meant no security footage to look through. No leads. No hope.

Unless...

She dropped cross-legged to the floor and closed her eye. Please let this work. With a deep, slow breath, she cleared her mind, focused inward. Just like Renee had taught her. Time to put that meditation to use. The last time she’d tried this, she’d had a vision of some sort—had to be an evolution of her precognition. Dick had hypothesized before that her ability was getting stronger, and over the past year it had done exactly that. First to extend to those around her, then to full minutes into the future, and now to full blown oracle-like visions. But had it been a one time thing, or could she make it happen again? And could she control what she saw?

Seconds melded into minutes, and the world faded away. She retreated into herself, delving deep into her own subconscious. A quiver like syrup rippled over her, washed her away, drew her into another time and place. And then the world around her changed. She opened her eye, fuzzy images coming into focus. Similar to her previous vision, the world around her now was blurry, colorless. But still there. Still real.

Ravager took a quick look around. The vision had changed from before. The first time, she’d been in some kind of large tool shed, or warehouse. Now she was standing in a restaurant kitchen. Panic welled into her chest, and she swallowed down a string of curses. Had something gone wrong? Was she seeing a different vision entirely, unrelated to Becky?

Something clattered deeper in the kitchen. She snapped her gaze towards the noise, her teeth clenching. Sounded like a muffled shout of pain. Straining her ears, she listened closer. Silence, followed by a dull thwack, and another yelp. Then came the shouting—a man, angry, violent. Ravager raced forward, barreling through a pair of double swinging doors into the back portion of the kitchen. She heard another muffled thwack—the freezer!

She threw open the freezer door. Becky lay on the floor strapped to a chair, knocked over on her side. Several vicious cuts slashed across her forehead and scalp, and her nose twisted at a grotesque angle. A growing pool of crimson spread around her face. Becky’s breaths were raspy, wheezing, like dead air leaking from a pipe.

A man wielding a steel pipe in one hand circled around her, his steps slow, methodical. Blood dripped in a steady stream from one end of the pipe, tracing a red path in his wake. Heat rushed to Ravager’s cheeks. She knew this man. She’d seen him before—Detective Riggs, Kubrick’s partner.

“One last chance to tell me who you're working with,” Riggs said. “If you cooperate, I'll make it quick. Painless. Refuse, and I get to have a little fun.”

With a twisted smile, he took the end of the pipe and jabbed it between Becky's ribs. A sickening, disgusting laugh chortled from his throat, as he dug the end of the pipe deeper. Becky grunted, closing her eyes and trying to crawl away. No use. There was nowhere to go.

Ravager fought the urge to lunge at the man. This was still only a vision. Attacking him would do jack shit right now. She had to use this, had to get information. Had to figure out where they were— _ before _ this happened. She sprinted from the freezer, through the kitchen, out of the restaurant. She found herself on blank, empty streets, nothing more than a black, quivering abyss around her. Please, let her be able to see it. Turning around, she searched for the restaurant sign. It appeared, blurry and out of focus. With a deep breath, she stared harder. Slowly, the words cleared, came into focus.

Got it! In the next instant, the entire world faded away. Ravager surged out of her vision back into the real world. Snapping her eye open, she lurched upright and sprinted out of the penthouse. A sudden stab of pain ripped through her ribs, but she pushed through it. Couldn't let a few scratches stop her now.

* * *

Becky grumbled quietly, blinking awake. Everything was a haze. Where was she? Was she alive? Last thing she remembered, she’d been fighting tooth and tail against some intruder. Then a shot to the head, and everything went dark. Now, she was...tied to a chair? She shook her head clear and flexed her arms, but they didn’t budge. Okay, definitely tied to a chair. With another few blinks, her vision cleared. The hell—was she in a walk-in freezer?

“Rise and shine,” said a voice from behind her.

Something hard poked the side of her head. She blinked, glancing to her right to see Detective Riggs standing there, holding a long metal pipe. A few more seconds, and things rushed back into complete focus. She scowled at him. “Keep that thing away from me, asshole.”

“What, this?” Riggs grinned, and cracked the pipe hard against her shoulder. A sharp cry of pain burst from her throat, but she swallowed it down a second later with a quiet grunt. “Should have left well enough alone. You'd think after the first couple of times we tried to stop you, you'd get the message. But no, you just had to keep digging.”

“Well, I am a curious one,” she said, with a mocking smirk. “Didn't really think your sloppy work would go unnoticed, did you?”

Riggs scoffed. “Just needed it to go unnoticed long enough. Once you're out of the way, that won't be a problem.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure. How long you think it’ll take for the captain to catch on, ah? I already clued him on on your shoddy paperwork.”

He glared at her, pacing around the other side of the chair. “Palmer can be dealt with. If he knows what’s good for him, he’ll stay out of it. Like you should have.”

Becky’s eyes narrowed. Asshole liked to talk big, but she’d put her money on Captain Palmer in that confrontation. “How’d you even find me? I wasn’t at my apartment.”

At this, Riggs laughed, another grin slashing across his face. “What, you think Kubrick didn’t have a plan in place if some nosy rat tried to copy files off his computer? You went and copied a virus too! Infected your system as soon as you uploaded them. So long as you were connected to the internet, we could access you remotely. Gave us a nice backdoor into your own files, told us exactly where you were, and let us shut you down your security with a few simple commands. You really fucked up there, Chavez.”

Becky frowned. Well, go figure. She’d never been that computer savvy. “Must think you're pretty clever.”

“I do my part.” Riggs continued circling around her, tapping the pipe against his shoulder. “Now tell me, who are you working with?”

“Right, like I’m just gonna tell you,” she said, chuckling softly.

“We know she's come back,” he said. “The Blade.”

“Actually, she prefers Ravager. Just an FYI.”

Riggs leaned forward, bringing his face close to hers. “Who is she?”

“Oh come on, I thought you were a detective?” Becky grinned. “I'm sure you can put it together yourself.”

Riggs’ frown deepened. “Wrong answer.”

He swung the pipe. Hard. Colors exploded through her vision, and the next thing she knew she was on the floor, staring up at him. Pounding tore through her skull. And there was warmth—wet warmth, oozing down the side of her head. She blinked, trying to make the room stop spinning, but it only whirled faster.

Riggs held the end of the pipe to her chin, forcing her gaze to look up at him. “Care to try again?”

A crash exploded through the freezer. The door tore open, and a figure lunged at Riggs, knocking him to the floor. The figure landed on top of him and swung—one punch, a second, third, so many. A storm of wild haymakers rained down on Riggs, drowning the small space with the sound of cracking bone and squelching blood.

“Touch another hair on her head!” the figure screamed. “I dare you!”

Becky blinked her vision back into focus. She knew that figure—Ravager. _Rose_. Wild, bloodlusted—an enraged demon beating a man’s face into pulp.

“I'll kill you, do you hear me!” Ravager clubbed her fist across his brow this time, severing one of his eyes from its socket. _“Kill you!”_

Becky’s sense roared back to her. Lifting her head, she yelled, “Rose! Stop!”

Ravager’s fist froze mid-swing, raised high above her head. Her breathing heaved, rapid, but slowly calmed. At this point, Riggs’ face had been reduced to something resembling crimson paste, and yet somehow the man was still alive. He groaned and twitched beneath her, but his breathing was steady. Ravager’s fist dropped, and she stumbled back off the man. “Right. Right, we still need him.”

Becky gave a firm nod _. “Sí _ , he’s done. How about giving me a hand here?”

Once Ravager untied her, Becky pushed herself up into a sitting position, teetering slightly as a bubble of nausea found its way into her gut. The room spun again, forcing her to pause and catch her balance.. “Oy, that smarts.”

“You alright?” Ravager asked. “You're bleeding.”

“I'll be okay,” she assured. “Just dazed.”

“Becky, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten you into this.”

“I was already in it before you even got here, remember?” Becky smiled lightly, trying not to let the pain show. Not a great effort, considering the blood dripping down the side of her face. “Besides, I'm the one who insisted I help.”

Ravager bowed her head, sighing. “And I let you.”

“Like you had a choice,” Becky said, with a soft laugh. “I'm just glad you found me.  _ How  _ did you find me?”

“I'll tell you later. Right now, I need to squeeze a few answers out of mush face over there.”

Becky’s gaze drifted down to the barely moving Riggs at their feet. The sight churned her gut, and she looked away. That was definitely not what a man’s face was supposed to look like. “And then?”

“Then, we're going home,” she said. “I've had enough excitement for one night, and I could use a hot bath.”

“Mmm.” Becky grinned. “You and me both.”

* * *

Rose stared up at the ceiling, trying not to pay attention to how much of a mess her penthouse was in. There would be plenty of time to clean it tomorrow, and right now all she wanted was some damn sleep. This night had been way more eventful than she’d anticipated. Not to mention painful As she sucked in a deep breath of air, she felt Becky's arm wrap around her, a light kiss pressing against her neck.

“Does it hurt?” Becky asked, tracing a gentle hand over the bandages wrapping Rose's naked midsection.

Rose looked down, flinching slightly at the touch. “It’s not too bad, really. Just stings a little. I heal fast, anyway, so don't worry.” Still, she’d probably have to visit the ER tomorrow morning to get her arm looked at. That needed some actual treatment, or it would probably heal wrong.

Becky cuddled closer. “Think I'll call in sick tomorrow, help you clean up here. Don't really feel like going in with this headache, either. Come to think of it, probably got a concussion. Should maybe get that looked at.”

“Then there’s Kubrick still on the loose,” Rose muttered. “I messed him up pretty good, but with what he is—well, for all we know he could be perfectly fine by tomorrow. I don't think Riggs will be a problem, though.”

Becky went quiet a moment, her gaze drifting away.  _ “Sí _ ... you really did a number on him.”

“I—he was going to kill you,” Rose said, setting a hand on Becky’s shoulder. “I wasn’t letting him get off for that. I might have overdone, but—I mean, I care about you. A lot. So maybe I overreacted a little. Besides, we needed that information.”

“Maybe.” Becky gave a slow, distant nod. “Still hard to watch.”

“Nothing he won't recover from in a month. Or five.” Rose settled back against the mattress. “The hospital will take care of him.”

Becky sighed, hugging her arms tighter around Rose. “So, what's the plan, anyway?

“Tomorrow, we go after their source,” she explained. “We know where they're building those stems now, so we're going to shut them down. And when I say we, I mean me.”

“But, Rose—”

“No buts, Becky. Even I'm starting to get in over my head here.” Rose tilted her head, looking Becky square in the eyes. “I am not putting you in that kind of danger again.”

Leaning up on her elbow, Becky frowned. “So what, you're going to keep me locked up in a protective cage until all this is over? I'm not some helpless kitten that needs to be sheltered, Rose.”

“I almost lost you today! And that was just to Riggs! What if Kubrick finds you? Or that monster friend of his? What if I'm not there to—I don't want you getting hurt anymore because of me.”

“So then teach me.”

Rose squinted in confusion. “What?”

“You heard me.” Becky folded her arms across her chest, glaring. “If I'm not capable of handling myself, then teach me how. Teach me what you do. Everything you know.”

Rose let out a small breath, already starting to shake her head. “Becky...”

“You listen to me, Rose Wilson,” Becky said, pointing a finger directly into Rose's chest. “I like you. I  _ really  _ like you. And I want to be with you, no matter the risk, got that? I'm not going to have you feeling sorry for yourself because you can't protect me, because guess what? You're not always going to be able to. If you really want to make sure that your work doesn't get me hurt, then you teach me how to deal with it.”

Fuck. Rose knew that look. She knew when Becky wasn’t going to let something go, when she wasn’t going to change her mind. No matter how much she tried to protest, this conversation only ended one way. She shouldn’t. She _really_ shouldn’t. She’d regret it. Maybe not soon, but someday this would bite her in the ass. Still, would be so terrible for Becky to know how to defend herself against the kind of shit she might get caught up in? Not like Rose would be taking her out on patrol.

Rose huffed in defeat, rubbing her fingers across her forehead. “Alright, fine, I'll teach you. Eventually. Something like that isn't going to happen over night, though. It takes time—a lot of time. Hell, I've had a whole lifetime. But I have to move on those stems tomorrow, and I'm not leaving you alone again while this is going on. If I promise to train you, can you please agree to stay safe until this is over?”

Becky pursed her lips, mulling over the compromise. Was probably more than she’d expected Rose to relent, in any case.  _ “Sí _ , I can do that.”

“Good. I think I know how to do it, too,” Rose said. “But we can deal with that tomorrow. For now, I just want to get some sleep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Becky is in a unique position here. She may be an experienced cop, but when it comes to the hole superhero side of things, she's essentially a civilian. Rose is getting herself deep into some shit she wasn't prepared for, and Becky is finding herself right in the middle of it, with no help from her own earlier investigations. But she's also not one to just sit back and let herself be protected, either. So, that leads her to wanting Rose to train her, or at least prepare her, for these kinds of things, which will come in the future. As for right now. Rose needs to move on Kubrick, Shao Shen, and the Fist of Shadows as soon as possible, and she isn't going to let Becky help with that. But she does have a few other friends she might be able to call for help. Now I wonder who they might be...


	38. Ravager Rising #5: Dynamic Duo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose gets Becky to safety until the situation in Silverstone dies down, and gets some outside help from Gotham to assist in her further investigation of the Fist of Shadows.

Rose spent the next day cleaning her apartment—picking up the overturned furniture, sweeping broken glass, vacuuming, and just getting the place looking halfway decent. Riggs had torn the damn place apart during his little break-in, although whether that had been during the fight with Becky, or if he’d been looking for something, she didn’t know. Maybe he’d just done it for fun. Didn’t matter, in any case. Kept her busy cleaning, either way.

While sweeping up the ramins of a shattered vase, she tucked her phone between her shoulder and her ear, and said, “So, you’re okay with it?”

A sigh came in over the line, followed by Dick Grayson's caring, yet stern voice. “I'm happy to help, you know that, but you don't really think she's going to buy that I'm a friend of yours in Gotham completely unrelated to Batman, do you? She'll figure it out.”

“Which is why you don’t even have to meet her. Hell, send Alfred or something, escort her to a separate safehouse. She never has to know you’re Batman.” Rose paused, switching her phone to the other shoulder. “Besides, even if she did figure it out, she’s a good person. She can be trusted. I mean, she’s keeping my secret too, isn’t she?”

“Might not even risk sending Alfred,” Dick muttered, with a musing hum. “Even minor research would connect him to Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson. Should probably send some random escort. The secret identity of Batman isn’t something you mess with lightly.”

Rose grumbled. “What, you’re saying your secret is so much better than mine?”

“That's not what I—”

“Look, Dick, please,” she said, breathing out a heavy sigh. “I need your help here. I don't want to risk losing Becky during this whole fiasco, I need her to be safe. I just... I like her, you know? I really, _really_ like her.”

Dick hummed again, relenting. “I know. And I said I’ll help, so I’ll help. Should be manageable, in any case.”

“Thanks. Really, I mean it.”

“Besides,” he added, with a slight uptick to his tone, “I’ve already run an extensive background check on her. She's clean.”

“You ran a—” Rose pinched her fingers against her eyes and sighed. “Of course you did. Anyway, thanks again. Silverstone just isn't a safe place for her right now, not after the lengths they've gone to try and kill her already.”

“I understand. And my offer still stands, by the way. Do you need help with this?”

Rose paused, taking a walk over towards the penthouse windows. She stopped to stare out at the city skyline, the early afternoon sun beaming down over the skyscrapers. “Might not be a bad idea, actually. I thought I was fine, but after last night...”

“What happened?”

“Well, there was—so, what do you know about werewolves?

“Werewolves?”

“Yeah, I know, stupid question,” she said. “Just answer.”

“Actually, it's not as dumb as you might think,” Dick said, his tone sinking with a contemplative breath. “I've encountered one before.”

Rose raised an eyebrow, and wandered over to the couch. “You have?”

“Yes, his name was Kyle Abbot. Although, I'm not certain if he was a werewolf in the sense most people think. Why do you ask?”

“Because I fought one last night.” She sank onto the couch, letting her head drape over the back. “Goes by the name of Michael Kubrick. One second he was just a man, and the next he was big and furry, teeth, claws—the whole deal. Did it at will, too. Not exactly your full moon type.”

“I see...”

“And then there was that friend of his, some kind of shark alien chick. I don't know what the hell she was, but same deal. Perfectly human one minute, and then freak monster the next.”

Dick took in a small breath, thinking. “Well, I can't help you on the 'shark alien', but if this Kubrick is in fact infected with some form of lycanthropy, and isn't just a shapeshifter, I'd try silver. From what I've heard, it's like poison to them. One of the few reliable myths about them.”

“Silver, huh? Pretty sure I can manage that.”

“Oh, and try not to let him bite you. That's how some strains of the lycanthropy virus are spread—through the host's saliva.”

Rose froze. Slowly, she shifted her gaze down from the ceiling towards her forearm, now stitched up and heavily wrapped in bandages. Most of the noticeable physical damage had already begun to heal after her trip to the emergency room that morning, and the more prominent pain had lessened to a dull throbbing. But it still burned. Deep, fierce, like fire raging beneath her flesh.

No. No, she was just being paranoid. It was nothing. Had to be nothing.

“Uh, yeah, right,” she said. “I'll keep that in mind. Thanks.”

“No problem. Now, Cass would be my first choice to help out, but she’s not available right now—she and Damian are investigating an incident in Arkham tonight. But I do know a couple who might be willing to help out. I’ll give them a call and get back to you.”

Rose gave a slow nod to no one, her gaze still locked on her forearm. “Alright, I'll keep a lookout. Becky will be by later, too. I'll let her know where to meet your escort.”

“Sounds good. Goodbye, Rose.”

When the connection cut out, Rose tore her gaze away from her bandaged arm and stuffed the phone in her pocket. Alright, that was one thing taken care of. Time to get back to cleaning. As she stood up from the couch, the bedroom door opened. Becky wandered into the sitting room, a towel wrapped around herself, and another around her hair.

“So, what did that friend of yours say?” Becky asked.

“It's all taken care of,” she said. “You're good to go as soon as you're ready.”

“And you're sure you'll be fine?”

Rose nodded. “No worries here. If all goes according to plan, this will end tonight. I just need to stop Shao. Kubrick, too. Once the head's been cut off, the snake dies.”

“Ah, but the head can still bite,” Becky said. “So be careful.”

“I will be. Promise”

“Good.” Becky wrapped her arms firmly around Rose’s hips, a mischievous grin breaking out across her face. She leaned closer, pressing their lips together in a deep kiss. At the same time, her towel dropped to the floor. “Then before I go, let's have a little fun, ah?”

* * *

Ravager paced back and forth across the rooftop, watching the skies. Dick had instructed her to wait in a neighborhood with low buildings—nothing over a couple stories, better for the Bat-Jet to maneuver. Way too obvious for the thing to be flying through skyscrapers, not to mention dangerous. Still not exactly legal, but then, really nothing they were doing in costume was. The good news was that she was getting help. The only question she had was from who. If Damian and Cassandra were busy, who did that leave? Tim was back in San Francisco with the Titans, and Jason hadn’t worked in Gotham in years. So, who did that leave that Dick would trust to fly Batman’s personal fighter jet?

A small glow of light sparked in the night sky. At first glance, it might have been a shooting star, but the glow brightened as it neared. The shape streaked towards her, until the noticeable form of the Bat-Jet hovered into view and descended onto the rooftop. Ravager cleared the area, giving the vehicle space to land, and waited for the hatch to pop open and its occupant to climb out and jump down onto the roof.

Her gut spiked a bit at the sight of a dark cape and cowl—had Batman decided to come himself? Not that she’d complain, but nothing he’d said had indicated that would be a possibility. Her thoughts settled into confusion, however, when she noted the long crimson hair spilling out from the back of the cowl, as well as the equally colored bat symbol emblazoned on the front. Not to mention the much leaner, feminine form beneath the armored suit. So, not Batman at all. Bat...someone else 

“So, uh, which one are you?” she asked, with a questioned stare.

“Call me Batwoman,” the cowled woman said, sweeping her cape behind her as she approached. The visible skin on the lower half of her face was an abnormal kind of pale—so ashen she could have been lost in a snowstorm—offset by bright crimson lipstick. “You’re Ravager, I take it?”

Batwoman. Yeah, okay, that actually made sense. “That’s me. Are you it? I thought Batman mentioned a couple would be coming.”

A second after she asked, a light tug pulled on her hair. Ravager turned her head to see another woman standing there, this one dressed in a suit and fedora with a long blue trench coat, currently holding onto several loose strands of her hair. That, and she didn’t have a face. Well, she had a face, but there were no eyes on it. Or a mouth. Or nose. Just blank bumps and indentations where those features should have been. Evidently, this one had made it around behind her without her noticing.

“White hair,” the faceless woman said, in a musing tone. “Curious.”

Ravager frowned. “Please stop doing that.”

The woman released her hold on Ravager's hair. Tilting her head, she stared intently. At least, probably. Hard to tell when someone with no eyes was staring at you. “I think we know each other.”

“Uh, yeah, you're the woman with no face,” Ravager replied. “The what—Question, I think? We met a long time ago. You were trying to ask for Wonder Woman's autograph? You’re pretty hard to forget. You know, because the whole no face thing.”

“Oh, that I remember. But that's not what I meant.”

Ravager’s eye narrowed behind her mask, subtle recognition flooding into her ears. The sound of that voice.... Quite a bit more aloof and curious than normal, but still familiar. “Hold on, say something else.”

The Question tilted her head the other way. “What would you like me to say?”

“Holy shit.” Of _course_ she knew that voice! She’d just spent the equivalent of four years listening to it every day in Nanda Parbat. “Renee?”

She raised a finger. “Question.”

“Uh, yeah I asked you a question. What's the answer?”

“Now that's a good question.”

Ravager groaned, letting her head drop into her hand. “You’re enjoying this way too much, aren’t you?

The Question smirked—or at least, what passed for a smirk with no lips—and her voice dropped its aloofness, shifting into a much more distinctive tone and leaving no more doubt who it belonged to. “You have no idea.”

“Alright, that's enough,” Batwoman said, with an unamused sigh. “We have a job to do.”

“Right.” Ravager turned a look out towards the city. “Our destination isn’t too far from here. Think I know a good place for you guys to set down the jet of yours, too. I can meet you there. We’re going after a guy named Shao Shen. He’s processing neural stems, which can be used to brainwash and control individuals, as well as enhance their physical abilities. He also has a werewolf and some other kind of shark monster working for him, so expect some tough possible resistance. We need to stop these assholes before they unleash whatever they’re planning. Hopefully, we still have some time. Last I heard, a majority of their stems were malfunctioning and killing the hosts. With any luck, we’ll reach them before they finish their work. Any questions?”

The Question raised her hand. “Just one: who’s ready to kick some ass?”

* * *

The old S.T.A.R. Labs warehouse—back where this whole clusterfuck first started. From what Riggs had so graciously explained to her, Shao’s base of operations was in an underground laboratory connected by tunnels beneath the warehouse. Things started falling into place after that. The day she and Becky had responded to the break-in report, they those ninjas hadn’t been there to steal anything—they’d been coming home to their puppet master. And when she and Becky had gotten close, they’d attacked to make sure the hidden entrance wasn’t discovered. 

But now she knew exactly where that entrance was. The plan was simple—get in, break up the operation, and get out. Destroy any stems they could find, and make sure they couldn’t make any more. If Shao was there, then that was a bonus. She wouldn’t have to go hunting him down later, in that case.

Ravager led the way into the warehouse, through the broken window on the second floor. The interior of the building was dark, forcing her to squint in order to make out even the vaguest outlines of shapes. Clicking a button on the side of her mask, the eye lens switched over to night vision. Much better. She gave a quick glance over to Batwoman and Question—neither appeared to have any trouble finding their way, meaning they both had their own ways of seeing. Granted, a flashlight might be simpler, but that would give away their position.

At the top of the steps in the hallway, she raised a fist for the others to stop. She paused, and listened. Five seconds, ten seconds, fifteen seconds—nothing. Waving them along again, she continued down the steps into the open shipping and receiving area. According to Riggs, the entrance to the underground tunnels would be hidden behind one of the storage racks. She quickened her pace across the floor. The other two followed. Almost there.

She stopped. A sinking plummeted in her gut—an odd feeling of not being alone. Both Batwoman and Question noticed it too, shifting on guard. Batwoman removed a pair of batarangs from her belt, while Question raised her fists. Ravager reached for her swords, and looked upwards. There they were. A lot of them, standing atop the surrounding shelves and stacks of pallets—no less than thirty ninjas. So many ninjas. When the fuck had her life turned into a bad comic book?

“So,” she said, drawing her swords, “I’ll take the ones on the left, you two take the ones on the right?”

Batwoman grinned. “I think I can live with that.”

“Definitely,” Question said.

The ninjas sprang down from their vantage point, coming at them in swarms. A shame, really. She had half been hoping that they'd do the whole attacking one a time thing. No such luck. Still, nothing she couldn't handle. She wasn’t sure how many of these were being modified by the neural stems and how many were actual Fist of Shadows, members, but they all might as well have been children compared to her. Not only did she have her own enhancements and her precog on her side, she also now had a whole four years worth of experience training with Richard Dragon under her belt. Three, four, five opponents came at her at once—she ducked and blocked, surged inside their guards, and dropped them with vicious, brutal strikes, never slowing her assault. More attacked, and she dismantled them all the same.

Meanwhile, Batwoman and the Question worked in tandem, covering each other’s backs and assisting each other when needed—a well oiled team of dangerous combatants in their own right. Batwoman was from the Bat family, after all, and Question—well, she’d trained with Dragon too, hadn’t she? Within moments, a forest of bodies lay at their feet, either unconscious or groaning in pain. None of them seemed eager to get back up and try again.

Ravager stretched out her arms, as she surveyed their work. “Not bad, girls. Gotta say, been a while since I had a good workout like that.”

“Indeed,” Batwoman stated, shifting a careful look towards her. “Batman spoke highly of your abilities. Seems he wasn’t exaggerating.”

“She was skeptical,” Question stated, with a raise of her finger. “For what it’s worth, I vouched for you.”

Ravager shrugged, offering the other women a smirk. “Yeah, I’m pretty great.”

A white flash tore through her mind, wiping the smirk from her face. Heart leaping into her throat, Ravager lunged at the Question and tackled her out of the way, seconds before a massive dark shape crashed into the ground where she’d been standing. Batwoman rolled away at the same time from another large shape, seconds before razor claws sliced through the air.

Ravager and Question both jumped back to their feet alongside Batwoman, all shifting into combat stances at the ready. The two shapes in front of them stood upright to their full heights, both more than ten feet tall. One, a furry mass of muscle, fangs, and claws, the other a scaly figure with a shark-like mouth and pointed spines running along its back and tail. Two unwelcomingly familiar monsters.

“Impressive, girl.” Kubrick snarled, his words grating out of his throat like gravel dragged over concrete. “But this time, I‘ll feast on your heart!”

The shark beast, Zaria, stomped next to him and unleashed a shrill, monstrous screech. “I’ll rip you apart for what you did to my bar!”

“Werewolves and shark monsters,” Batwoman stated, gawking up at the monsters. “That’s…”

“Strange,” Question stated, with a slow nod. “And yet nothing we haven't seen before.”

Ravager twirled her swords around at the ready, as Kubrick and Zaria charged. “Good to know. Now let's take these assholes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back after a bit of time off (lot of work and the long weekend to thank for that), but we continue along as Ravager teams up with some notable heroes to help her. We finally get to see Renee in her vigilante identity, the Question (which, speaking of, her story in becoming the question from 52 is one of my favorite comic stories ever), and I felt Batwoman was a logical partner for her. Not based at all on the fact that I still ship them to this day. Nope. Not at all. *ahem* In any case, this was more a bridge chapter to get us to the next major portion of the story, as we now have Kubrick and Zaria baring down on them. Expect a lot of conflict and action in the next chapter.
> 
> Also, like holy shit?? I hadn't checked this fic since I uploaded the previous chapter last Thursday, but somehow it went from 14 kudos to 56 in like 5 days? Gah, I guess people do like this? I'm flattered by all of you! And uh, you know if-if anyone wants to drop a comment or something some time, I-I promise I don't bite. Much.


	39. Ravager Rising #6: An Empty Evil Lair is a Bad Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager, Batwoman, and the Question face off against Kubrick and Zaria, before continuing their mission to stop Shao before he puts his plans into motion.

Kubrick and Zaria split in their charge, werewolf rushing towards Ravager, and shark monster towards the other two. Zaria struck with a whipping swipe of her spined tail, forcing Question and Batwoman to back out of the way. The last thing Ravager saw of them before Kubrick pounced at her was Zaria swatting a thrown batarang out of the air. 

Teeth and claws barreled at her. She ducked and threw herself sideways, slicing with her swords. Sharpened metal slashed into fur. A glancing blow, at best, as Kubrick spun around with another swing of his claws. Again, Ravager danced out of the way, this time putting distance between them. Kubrick was wild, uncontrolled—easy to predict and outmaneuver when it came to a normal fight, but this was anything but normal. Every part of this beast was a weapon, and getting close to him meant entering a danger zone filled with ways designed to tear her to pieces. If she was going to make her move, she had to be dead sure she wouldn’t have her intestines ripped out in the process.

Kubrick pounced again, and again Ravager darted out of range, keeping at least two sword lengths between them. When a third lunge resulted in the same, the werewolf snarled and began to circle her on all fours. His yellow eyes sparked with annoyance.

“Pretty good at running,” he said. “Won’t help you in the end.”

“We’ll see.” Ravager circled the opposite direction, keeping her swords poised. “Guess you heal pretty fast. I could have sworn I crippled your ass last night.”

“One of the many benefits to what I am,” he replied, a low growl grumbling in his throat.

“And just what are you, huh? Shapeshifter, thought the whole wolf motif was cool?”

A terrible, snarling chortle surged from the werewolf’s throat. “I think you already know. How’s your arm, by the way?”

Ravager flinched, glancing down briefly at her forearm, still bandaged tightly beneath her armor. Most of the pain was gone, sure, and she had regained most of its functionality, but that deep, dull burning still lingered, and it wasn't going away. Bringing her gaze back up to Kubrick again, she charged him. Forget patience. She needed to end this now.

Kubrick was far faster than his bulky form would suggest. Agile, too. But so was she. Plus, she had something he didn’t. He might have her beat in power, but he couldn’t match her skill. Even as she charged him, he kept focused, watching his movements. Every twitch of his muscles gave something away, let her know how he was about to move. Her precognition only reinforced it. He swiped two furious claw strikes at her, and she slid in beneath them.

Time to put her secret weapon to work.

Ducking below another attack, she thrust one of her blades forward, piercing Kubrick through the shoulder. He howled in pain, and dug his claws into her backside, pulling her towards him. A death sentence for anyone else. But she was prepared. Reaching into her belt, she pulled out a small round pellet—something she’d cooked up earlier. As Kubrick opened his jaws to bite into her, she tossed the pellet into his face. It exploded in a shiny, shimmering mist, engulfing his entire head. Please, let this work...

Kubrick released her immediately, reeling with a furious howl. He roared, and clawed at his face. Low, scratchy growls of pain erupted from his throat, as the furry beast collapsed to the floor, twitching and slowly transforming back into his human form. He coughed, spraying the floor with blood droplets.

“What did you do to me?” he howled. “What is this!”

Ravager managed a cocky, triumphant grin, despite the pain of fresh claw marks burning between her shoulder blades. “Ionized colloidal silver. Heard it was like poison to you guys. Looks it's true.”

Kubrick continued his sputtering, hacking bloody mucus onto the floor. With that one taken care of, Ravager spun around to find the other battle. Question hung off the side of Zaria, choking the monster with the crook of her elbow. Batwoman staggered a few paces away, bleeding from open slashes across her abdomen.

“Get off me!” Zaria shrieked. With one heaving tug, she threw the Question off her backside and whirled around, claws bared.

Question stumbled back to her feet, fixing her fedora into place. “That could have gone better.”

“Not a problem.” Batwoman pulled a small device out of her utility belt—a sort of stun gun from the look of it, two metal prongs sparking with electricity.

Zaria looked between them with a snarl. Ravager rushed forward, joining the other two women with swords drawn. The shark beast balked a moment, her gaze snapping towards the sputtering Kubrick on the floor.

“Michael!” Rather than reengage, Zaria bounded towards the downed man and scooped him into her arms. She stole another glance over her shoulder, before rushing off deeper into the warehouse. “This isn’t over!”

Ravager blinked, as the pair disappeared. “Well, shit. Did not want them getting away.”

“At least they’re no longer in our way,” Batwoman said, placing the stun device back into her belt. She winced, as a spurt of blood oozed out her cuts. “Probably have to get that looked at later.”

“You alright for now?”

“Please, I’ve had worse.” Batwoman pulled a small can with a nozzle from of her belt, and squeezed out a spray of some thick, sticky substance over her wounds. The bleeding stopped moments later. “I’ll be fine for now.”

“By the way-” the Question looked up from across the shipping area, lifting a trap door that had been cleverly hidden behind a stack of pallets- “I believe I discovered the secret entrance.”

Ravager marched to the trap door and gazed down, where a long set of metal steps disappeared into an empty void of darkness. “Right. Let’s stop these assholes.”

* * *

The underground tunnels beneath the city were dark, dank, and quiet. So, pretty much standard for secret villain lairs. One would think Shao or the Fist of Shadows would put up some lights to find there way down here, but nope. Just stumbled around in the dark, apparently. Instead, Ravager led the way with her utility flashlight. Batwoman had one of her own, clipped to her belt. No sense in trying to be stealthy at this point, considering the mess they’d just run into in the warehouse.

The darkness broke eventually, beginning as a tiny glow in the distance. The glow brightened as they neared it, allowing them to switch off their flashlights. The tunnel emptied out into a corridor illuminated by fluorescent lights on the ceiling. The corridor was flat and empty, with no doors, windows, or furniture of any kind. Just lone, blank walls of off-white.

“And here I thought a hospital was as depressing as it got,” Ravager muttered. “They could at least throw up some pictures or something to spruce the place up.”

Question turned her head with a faceless stare. “Offering the bad guys decoration advice?”

“Just thinking out loud, is all.”

The corridor had no turns, no bends, no markings, no nothing. All they could do was follow it straight to wherever it went. Five minutes into their walk, the corridor finally turned and offered a change of scenery—a laboratory of sorts, or maybe some kind of engineering station. The large room they came to was filled with all kinds of mechanical and medical equipment, tools, and strange devices. Oddly similar to the lab Jeremiah Belmont had been working out of, come to think of it. Did all these crazy villains shop at the same evil workstation store?

“Looks like this is where they made those stems,” Ravager said, taking a long look around the chamber.

The Question strolled through the lab, closely examining a large drill-like device. “But they’re not here. No sign of any stems, or the workers building them.”

Batwoman stopped in front of a table lined with test tubes placed in racks. All of them empty. “You said these devices are meant to control minds?”

Ravager nodded. “Yeah, something like that, though there's a lot more to it. Either way, we can't let Shao finish working out the kinks and proceeding with whatever his plan is. If it involves mind control, it can't be good.”

“We might already be late.” Question straightened her trench coat, scanning the laboratory with a critical eye. “In my experience, an empty evil lair is a bad sign.”

“Precisely,” Batwoman stated. “If the workers aren’t here, or any of the material they’ve been working on, it’s probably because they’ve finished. Or cleared out to a different location.”

Ravager’s gut sank. She quickened her pace, leading the way through the lab into another tunnel beyond. “Come on, let’s keep looking.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, the trio found themselves in some kind of large underground loading dock, hiding behind a cluster of metal barrels. A team of men in lab coats hurriedly carried crates to and from a series of pallets onto the back of a large tractor trailer. Those had to be the men working on the stems. And the boxes—probably the stems themselves. Ravager’s fingers jittered, as she motioned for the other two to follow her into the shadows leading around to the truck. That was a lot of freaking boxes. If those were all packed with neural stems …

“We have to stop them,” she whispered, as they crept closer to the truck. “Now.”

Both the Question and Batwoman nodded, silent and ready to strike. On Ravager’s signal, the trio darted forward and lunged at the nearest workers. Poor guys didn’t even see them coming, only managing out terrified yelps before hitting the ground in crumpled heaps. The other workers on the dock looked up with gasps, as the three women turned to them.

“Alright, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the fun way.” With an eager grin, Ravager walked forward and cracked her knuckles. “What's it gonna be?”

The workers paused for only a second before turning to run in a panic. They grabbed a few supplies on the way by, but soon disappeared through various side doors. A few dumped what boxes they’d been carrying onto the back of the truck and sprinted out the open garage door into the night beyond. Ravager squinted at them as they fled. A vacant roadway lay beyond, no sign of any civilization around.

“Man, I was really hoping for the fun way,” she muttered, setting her hands on her hips.

“Shouldn’t complain,” Batwoman said, with a nod towards the semi-truck. “We got what we came for.” 

Ravager wandered over towards the trailer. Indeed, they’d stopped the shipment of stems, at least. “True, but my job isn't over yet. Doesn't look like Shao is here, so I still have a lot of weeding out to do.”

A voice echoed from above her. “Are you so sure, Miss Blade?”

She flinched, her gaze traveling towards the top of the semi-truck to see Shao Shen standing there, his long dark braid draped over his shoulder. Speak of the freaking devil. “It’s Ravager, actually.”

“Ah, my mistake.” Shao offered an apologetic bow, then swiftly straightened himself. “Miss Ravager, then.”

The Question raised a contemplative hand to her chin, staring at the man. "This is the guy who beat you?"

“He's a lot tougher than he looks,” she muttered. “Some kind of meta, I think. But it doesn't matter. This time, I'm ready for him.”

“I'm afraid your preparedness will have to be for naught,” Shao explained. Two other figures moved into view next to him, a pair of ninja-esque goons dressed in red outfits. Similar to the other ninjas they’d faced, but their uniforms looked sharper, with gold trim. Probably a step above the average fodder, in that case. “I've already defeated you, and have no interest in fighting again.” His gaze shifted towards Batwoman and the Question. Jumping down from the back of the truck, he landed softly on the balls of his feet, maintaining perfect balance. “Perhaps your two friends might offer a better challenge.”

Batwoman reached a hand to her belt, fingers grabbing at a batarang. “We’ll have to see, won’t we?”

“So we shall.” Shao stood straight with his hands clasped behind his back. To the red goons still on the truck, he stated, “ In the meantime, dispose of this Ravager, please.”

On command, the two red cloaked ninjas leaped down as well, landing in front of Ravager. They lunged at her in tandem, forcing her to dart backwards and defend from both sides as they attacked. Yeah, definitely a step above the other ninjas. The way they moved, the way they coordinated their attacks—similar to how Question and Batwoman fought together, only faster and more relentless. Alone, they might have only been a minor step up from Shao’s usual goons. Together, they drove her back and kept her on the defensive.

Good thing Ravager had gone through a bit of an upgrade recently. A couple months ago, this combo probably would have had her playing cautiously, given her trouble. Might have even beaten her. But now, it just made for a good work out. She didn't play it safe, didn't back away, no. As soon as she had a grasp on their attack patterns, she struck back. 

The two came in with coordinated, whirling kicks—she ducked low, twisted her body, and drove a kick of her own upward into one of their jaws. The ninja flew several feet onto his back, forcing his partner into position alone. To his credit, he didn’t falter or try to disengage. He kept coming with the same fervor. But one on one? He didn't have a chance. In a brief exchange of furious punches, she put him down on the ground along with his buddy.

Brushing her hands off, she took in a deep breath and turned back to where the others had been fighting. She flinched, a deep sigh puffing from her throat. Shao stood there, holding up a dazed Batwoman and Question in either hand, his grip firmly on the back of their cape and trench coat, respectively. Welp, that might have been a little too much to hope for.

“I see you have improved, Ravager. A pity, though, that it comes too late,” Shao said. “Your friends here did not fare much better”

Ravager tightened her jaw, glaring. “Put them down, and I'll show you a real challenge.”

“I am afraid that won't be required. I have no further need to waste my time with you. Consider this one last chance to walk away. Continue to pursue me, and I will show no such mercy again.” On those words, he tossed the two women to the floor and then marched back to the truck, closing the rear doors of it.

Ravager sprinted towards him, ready to tear him a new one. “Like hell!”

Before she could get to him, a flash of precog flickered through her head. She jumped to the side, spinning out of the way of an incoming sword that would have taken her arm off. Or her head. The red ninjas were back on their feet, recovered surprisingly quickly for how hard she’d hit them. No sign of any lingering injuries, either. With an annoyed shout, she attacked the nearest one. She broke through his guard easily enough, and repeatedly bashed her fist into his face until she was sure he wouldn’t wake up.

By the time she was finished with him, the truck had started to rumble through the open garage doors out onto the street. The second red ninja hadn't even attempted to attack her, instead completely bypassing her to take the driver's seat of the semi, while Shao hung onto the passenger door, staring triumphantly at her. Springing forward, Ravager took off in a dead sprint towards the truck. She just needed to reach the back end of it before it got too far away, then she could jump on and find a way to stop it. Just a little more...

On a good day, her top speed on foot was somewhere around thirty-five miles per hour. But only when she was in perfect condition. With nagging injuries from the past two days combined, she wasn’t anywhere near perfect condition. She hit maybe two thirds of her top speed, managing to gain on the truck for a few moments. She stretched her arms forward, fingertips brushing against the back end. Then the truck picked up speed, and the distance grew. She swore, tried pushing herself faster, but her legs started to pulse and burn. With one final, desperate attempt, she leaped forward. Again, her fingertips brushed the truck, but she couldn’t grab on. She landed face down on the pavement with a numbing jolt to her chest 

“Damn it!” she shouted, beating her fist against the ground.

Several moments later, Batwoman trudged outside to join her, clutching at the claw marks on her abdomen. They’d started bleeding again, crimson oozing through the medical paste. “You were right. He doesn’t fight like a normal person.”

“Yes, quite the quandary,” said the Question, emerging from the open garage doors while fixing her fedora back into place. “Does he make copies of himself, or is he leaving after images? Hard to say.”

“Who cares about how he fights?” Ravager said, bolting back to her feet. “He’s getting away!”

“No, I don’t think so.” Reaching to her utility belt, Batwoman pulled out a small device and pushed a button, causing a red light start blinking on it. "Not today."

Ravager squinted at the blinking device. “What's that?”

“A remote tracking beacon.” Batwoman smirked, turning a glance towards the Question. “We have a jet. remember?”

* * *

The Bat-Jet zipped through the night air at astounding speed, racing towards the direction Shao's truck had gone. At this rate, they’d catch up to him in a few minutes. The sooner the better—these seating arrangements sucked. Ravager had been forced to contort her body in the back of the jet’s cockpit, practically squashed up against the Question behind the pilot’s seat.

“You know,” she muttered, “with more money than he knows what to do with, I would think that Batman could install a passenger's seat in his vehicles.”

“The smaller jet is faster,” Question said, with an idle sigh. “Still big enough to fit two when needed, but we didn’t realize we’d be picking up a third.”

Ravager frowned, glaring up towards the pilot. “And why do you get the big comfy seat, huh?”

Batwoman glanced back at them. “Do you know how to fly it?”

Ravager frowned. Dumb question, admittedly. “ Just hurry up already. I'm not losing this bastard again.”

“Can you beat him?” Question asked, turning a curious, eyeless stare towards her. “He’s already beaten you once before.”

“Yeah, I can.” At least, she believed she could. She was ready for him this time, and she was better this time. If she couldn’t take him down now, then they might be fucked. “I have to.” 

“There it is.” Batwoman pointed towards the central freeway overpass of Silverstone City, where the large semi-truck rumbled along in traffic. She eased the jet over the highway, pulling into position above the truck. Definitely illegal, and definitely not safe. Please, for the love of god, don’t let her crash into a building. “Go get him.”

As soon as the cockpit hatch popped open, Ravager leaped out and plummeted down onto the top of the trailer. She twisted her body in midair and drew her swords on the way down. As soon as she landed, she thrust both blades through the trailer to stabilize herself and keep from slipping. Once her body adjusted to the speed, she withdrew her swords and stood straight. She stumbled a couple steps before catching her balance, and sheathed her swords. Meanwhile, the jet veered off away from the highway, out of sight. Alright, time to stop this truck.

Ravager timed her steps with each sway and jerk of the rig beneath, as she methodically trudged towards the front of the truck. All she had to do was get into the driver’s seat, subdue the driver, subdue Shao, and then take control of the truck and get it to stop. All without causing the thing to crash and getting a bunch of people killed in a highway accident.

Shit. Maybe she hadn’t thought this all the way through.

A flash of movement drew her gaze towards the side of the truck, as a figure crawled out from the passenger side and flipped up atop the trailer—Shao. His actions were almost inhuman, the way he launched himself through the air, maintained perfect aerial balance, and landed on his feet without so much as a stumble. Couldn’t just have some weird meta ability making copies of himself—was he physically enhanced, too, the way she was?

“You should have walked away, Ravager,” he said. “I did warn you.”

“Yeah, yeah, so you keep telling me,” she replied, rolling her eye. “You know, I think it's really time someone shut you up.”

“By all means, you are welcome to try.” Shao shifted his body to the side, one palm stretched forward, his fingers pointed at her, with his other arm held backwards, palm pointing away. A deadly glint surged into his eyes, sparking with a dull red glow. Ravager glared—was that glow actually there, or merely a trick of the light? “Just remember that this time I fight to kill.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple important notes in this chapter. Firstly, Kubrick and Zaria got away, which leaves a dangling thread that might come back to bite Rose later (no pun intended). And then there was Kubrick's remark about the actual bite he gave her. Now, is he just taunting her, or does it mean anything? Hmm, maybe time will tell. And yes, I am having a freeway fight on the top of a speeding semi-truck. Because that was one of the only legitimately awesome scenes in the Matrix: Reloaded and I needed to emulate it. But Rose is about to get her rematch with Shao, who is as confident as ever. How much did Rose's training in Nanda Parbat help? We'll find out in thie next chapter.


	40. Ravager Rising #7: Highway Robbery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ravager finally takes down Shao Shen and the Fist of Shadows, but learns her secret identity might not be as secret as she thought it was.

When Ravager had envisioned her rematch with Shao, battling atop a moving semi-truck while speeding down a highway overpass wasn’t exactly what she’d had in mind. No use complaining about it now, though. Had to focus. Keeping her balance as steady as possible, she sprinted across the trailer and lunged. Her fist drew back as if to punch, and Shao shifted to defend. The moment before throwing the punch, she twisted her body and spun into a whirling kick instead. Shao’s eyes flared with the slightest hint of surprise, as he slid backwards to evade.

Shao countered, his body flickering and undulating the way it had before. Ravager’s senses sharpened. Three separate images of a fist lashed out at her. The first time they’d fought, she hadn’t been able to tell where the real attack was coming from. Shao was fast—far faster than any normal person could be—but not fast enough to create after images. She could see it now. Some kind of psychic projection displaying multiple copies of his body as he moved, making it impossible for his opponent to properly defend.

Until now.

Ravager closed her eye and let instinct take over. She felt the rushing change of air as Shao’s strikes whipped towards her. A kick, then a punch, then three more sharp jabs, and a lunging knee. Her precog predicted them, but not fast enough. Instead, her body settled into a natural flow that reacted quicker than her mind could process. Block, block, dodge, block, dodge, dodge. She threw several counter strikes of her own, but he blocked them with expert precision.

The two broke apart momentarily only to rush back in with another furious exchange of strikes that to any onlooker might look like a wild blur of limbs. Still, neither gained on the other. Before her time in Nanda Parbat, Ravager might have grown frustrated over it. Might have let her anger take over, determined to just put this man down already. She was different, now. She stayed calm. As long as they were fighting to a standstill, she wasn’t losing. And if she wasn’t losing, she could win. Just needed to find the right moment.

During one exchange, Ravager stepped back too far, sliding her heel over the edge of the back of the trailer. She caught herself and pushed forward, regaining her balance in time to move around Shao’s next counter. He rushed in again. A palm thrust this time, then two jabs, three kicks in a single jump, and a crashing elbow. Dodge, block, block, duck, sidestep—there! As Shao’s elbow came down, she twisted to the side and kicked upward. Her boot collided with something solid—Shao’s jaw. She heard the man grunt, and a second later crash against the top of the truck. She opened her eye to see him clutching his chin and spinning back to his feet.

“Impressive,” he muttered, shifting back into his fighting stance. His eyes sharpened, taking on a different edge than she’d seen from him before, as though he'd suddenly gained newfound respect for his opponent. “You’ve improved, and by much more than you could have accomplished in a mere two months. Tell me, where did you learn all that in such a short amount of time?”

“Sorry, trade secret,” she replied, shifting her stance.

Shao narrowed his eyes. “Very well. In that case...”

He darted forward and leaped at her with a straight kick. Easy to block. She braced herself, brought up her arms, planted her feet as Shao’s heel cracked against her forearms—just as the semi-truck beneath her took a sharp turn into another lane. The force of Shao’s kick combined with the change in motion threw her balance out from underneath her. One second she’d be standing at the edge of the truck, and in the next wind rushed by her face as she plummeted over open air towards the highway beneath her.

“Motherfuck—!” she yelled, as she lashed out a desperate hand. Maybe she could grab on to the edge, or the door handle, or something—anything!

Something clamped around her wrist, half a second before she made impact with the pavement rushing beneath her. She fell upright, one arm dangling above her head, while her boots skimmed the road. A panicked grunt bubbled into her throat, as she kicked up and grabbed hold of the trailer doors with her other hand, before turning into human roadkill.

“Hanging in there?” said a curious voice.

Ravager blinked and looked upward, finally getting a look at what—or rather who—had grabbed her arm on the way down. The Question hung on the back of the trailer, one arm roped around the door handles, her other stretched to catch the falling Ravager. “The fuck—Renee? What the hell are you doing back here!”

“Not getting a ‘thank you,’ clearly,“ she said. She held on until Ravager had a good enough grip on her own, then brought her free hand up to steady her hat. How it hadn’t blown off her head while speeding on the back of a truck at eighty miles an hour, who the hell knew. “And please, it’s Question.”

“Right, Question, whatever.” Ravager climbed a few feet upwards. “Need to get back up there!”

“Well, I wouldn’t go climbing,” Question said. “He’s probably waiting to kick you off again soon as you appear.”

“Oh, and you have another idea?”

“Maybe.” Question pressed a finger to her ear, speaking into a wireless earpiece. “Batwoman, we could use an assist if you have a moment.”

A roaring engine hummed closer over the sound of traffic, as the Bet-Jet swooped into view over the highway. Passing drivers slammed on their horns, while others yelled profanity out their windows at the two costumed lunatics dangling off the back of a semi, and the personal jet hovering a mere few feet above them. Ravager caught sight of one driver flashing a middle finger, and if not for the fact she might fall off the truck, she would have returned one of her own. More important things to worry about than engaging in casual road rage.

Not that that stopped her from shouting at the guy on his way by. “Hey, screw you, buddy!”

When the jet lowered into position, Ravager pushed off of the back of the truck grabbed hold of the aircraft. In a brief moment of panic, she slid across the polished exterior before clutching her fingers onto a couple grooves for purchase. The lower half of her body dangled out into open space, as Batwoman flew higher, over the truck. With a desperate leap, Ravager let go and landed atop the trailer with a thud. Shao stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes narrowed at her.

“Welcome back,” he said.

“Bite me.”

Ravager took her fighting stance and inched towards him. Alright, so what were her options here? She’d engaged him in straight hand to hand combat, and that hadn’t worked. She’d tried fighting him blind, and that hadn’t worked. Even her precog wasn’t much help here. The best she could do right now was fight him to a draw, and hope she didn’t fly off the side of the truck in the process. That wasn’t good enough. Shao was fast, and far too skilled to get lucky against. Not to mention his own meta abilities leveled the playing field. There was no telling how much longer she had, either, before this truck reached its destination, and who knew what the hell was waiting for them there. She’d already thrown everything she had at him. Except...

An idea struck her. She grinned, and ran at him. Shao slid his foot back and prepared to defend himself, exactly as expected. Good. She didn’t turn to throw a punch. She kept coming. Shao shifted, prepared to block—and then she threw her entire body at him. His eyes widened as she collided with him, driving her shoulder square into his guard. He stumbled backwards in an attempt to lessen the blow, but she adapted, and grabbed hold of his arms, dragging him off his feet along with her. They thudded against the top of the trailer and rolled dangerously close to the end.

Ravager swung herself upwards first, planting her legs on either side of the man’s waist and pinning him beneath her. Nowhere to go now, asshole. With an unrelenting flurry, she rained down punch after merciless punch, cracking her knuckles repeatedly into his face and chest. His nose snapped, spraying a flood of crimson out his nostrils, his lip ripped open, half tearing away from his mouth, and she was sure she felt a rib snap. Just a little more and she’d have him—

Shao’s legs whipped upwards from underneath her and wrapped tight around her neck from behind. With a firm yank, he tugged her off of him and flipped back to his feet. Ravager rolled to her own feet, in time to turn towards a fist screaming at her face. Not this time. With a quick turn to the side, she caught his arm, fell backwards with Shao still in her grip, planted her boot against his chest, and flipped him into the air above her head. Shao gasped out a desperate cry as he disappeared over the side of the truck. His fingers latched against the edge seconds before plummeting onto the speeding highway below. After a moment to gather himself, he kicked against the side of the trailer and flipped himself upwards towards the top.

Right into Ravager’s awaiting fist. She put everything she had into the blow. Maybe not enough to kill him, but enough to put him down for good. Her knuckles smashed into the side of his face with the force of a battering ram. Shao back flipped in space, landing flat against his stomach on the top of the trailer. He didn’t move. Fucking finally. With an exhausted grumble, she grabbed the unconscious Shao by the collar and lifted him upward.

“Told you, didn’t I?” she said.

Question, whose featureless face was now peering above the edge of the truck, gave an approving thumbs-up. “So you did.”

Ravager turned to find the Bat-Jet, still keeping pace above them. “Now come down and grab this asshole! I have a truck to stop.”

* * *

Ravager eyed the figure approaching beneath the lamplight from her spot in the bushes. Hardly the best place to meet, in the middle of Silverstone Park, but it was public, and monitored by security cameras around the clock, which meant it was the only real place she could meet him. Considering the circumstances in which she’d left the city before, she was still a criminal as far as people were concerned, especially the police. Doubtful he'd agree to meet anywhere else.

The shadowed figure entered the beam of lamplight, revealing the stern face of Police Captain Gerald Palmer. He looked strange, dressed in civilian clothes rather than in full uniform, but no doubt he still had his gun somewhere on him. At least he’d come alone like requested, rather than bringing the entire city’s forces down on her. Granted, that could change at any moment. Just had to use a little tact, and she’d be fine.

Ravager crept out of the bushes towards the man, but remained just outside the circle of light. Best to stay to the shadows, where it would be more difficult for him to view her features. “Good, you came.”

Captain Palmer turned to her, his eyes narrowing with stoic examination. “The Blade herself. So, it is you. Have to say, I’m not sure how you got my personal number, but you certainly got my attention.” He paced a few steps beneath the light and reached into his coat, pulling out a hand radio. “You have exactly five minutes to explain what you’re doing back here and why you’ve called me, before I radio for backup. Don’t think we’ve forgotten the things you did before you disappeared.”

Alright, so maybe he’d come alone, but he certainly hadn’t come unprepared. Better convince him not to make that call. “Ravager, actually. The Blade is just what you people call me.”

“Ravager, then.” Palmer offered an indistinct grunt, and waved a hand at her. “So go on. Explain.”

“Right. Where to start…” 

She told him everything, starting about how Jeremiah Belmont had forced her into committing crimes in order to save the life of her loved ones, and about how she was the one who tipped them off about Jerry and his operations. She continued into everything she knew about the Fist of Shadows and Shao Shen, as well as Kubrick and Riggs’ involvement, the evidence of which she could provide soon enough. Then there were the mind control stems the Fist of Shadows had been working on. She did leave out a few key details, however, such as Kubrick being a werewolf. Probably best to make this as believable as possible.

Throughout the entire explanation, Captain Palmer didn’t so much as flinch, watching her with stern, critical eyes. A bead of sweat trickled down the dark skin of his brow, but he didn’t make an effort to wipe it away. When she finished, he offered another thoughtful grunt, and folded his arms. He started pacing. “That’s quite the story.”

“It’s the truth, one hundred percent,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Like I said, I have the evidence to back it up, and Officer Chavez can corroborate. She was the one looking into Kubrick and Riggs from the start.”

“Chavez?” Palmer stopped pacing and squinted at her. “She took a couple days off work recently, something about family business.”

“She left town, for her own safety. At least until I’d solved this issue. They’d already tried to kill her multiple times, after all.”

“So, you’re saying she’s been working with you?”

Ravager paused, a panicked jolt climbing into her throat. Shit. “I mean, not—not working with me, per se. She and I, we—we crossed paths during our investigations and put our heads together, that’s all. Just in the past few days.”

“I see.” Palmer folded his arms, bringing one hand up to rub his chin in thought. “So, you’re telling me that some secret ninja society has been working under our very noses to come up with a way to mind control innocent people to further their own objectives?”

“That's the gist of it, yeah.”

A flicker of recognition flashed in the captain’s eyes. “Then, that device we found drilled into Stevens’ head…”

“Probably one of those stems,” she affirmed. “He's a complete dunce, but an innocent one.”

Palmer lifted an eyebrow. “You say that like you know him.”

Double shit. “I mean, uh—from what Officer Chavez mentioned.”

“Of course.” Captain Palmer resumed his pacing. He pursed his lips, fingers tapping against his chin. “And you're also telling me that you want my approval to continue running around this city as a masked vigilante?” 

Ravager shook her head. “Not really your approval, no. I'm going to be doing it either way. I'm just trying to get on good terms with you before I do. Believe me when I tell you that I only want to help this city.”

“And why should I believe you?”

At this point, she stepped closer. So close, in fact, the edge of the lamplight brightened the front of her costume, and parts of her face. “Because I stopped Jeremiah Belmont and his operations. Because I stopped the Fist of Shadows. Because I exposed two dirty detectives in your station. Because I have helped countless other people during my time here in Silverstone, and saved God knows how many lives.”

Palmer's reached back into his coat, this time pulling out a stick of gum. “So you say.”

“Listen, I may not act within the strictest confines of the law, but that's what you need around here. If I've done anything, it's at least show you that there are some things that go on in Silverstone that the police can't always stop. I can do the things that you can't. Let me help you. Please.”

For a few moments, he didn’t say anything. He unwrapped his gum, stuck it into his mouth and started chewing. Calm, casual, as though he weren’t having a face to face conversation with Silverstone’s infamous Blade. About a minute later, he slowly nodded his head. “Alright. Let’s consider a trial run.”

Ravager blinked. “Wait, seriously?” 

She’d expected him to tell her off and radio for that backup he had waiting on call. Expected to have to make another escape and keep living in the shadows as a veritable outlaw. Hell, this had just been a formality on the off chance it might have any hope of working. If nothing else, she could have informed him about the Fist of Shadows and dropped off Shao Shen to be taken into custody. But actually going along with it? Couldn’t be. That had been way too easy.

“You know, I had an officer working under me for a good eight months or so. I’ve been doing this job long enough, I’ve become a pretty good judge of character. She was young, nothing but a rookie, but she still had a lot of heart. A real desire to do good.” He blew a bubble with his gum, and turned that stern gaze of his back at her. “I admired that about her, in the brief time I knew her.”

Ravager’s gut sank. No… Couldn’t be. Could it? “Uh, alright. And what happened to her?”

“Decided the job wasn’t right for her. Turned in her resignation about a month and a half ago and haven’t seen her since. A shame, really. I saw a lot of potential in her.” He blew another bubble. It popped, and he pulled it back in to keep chewing. “Come to think of it, you disappeared from Silverstone around the same time.”

The sinking knotted, and threatened to double her over. Oh. Oh shit. She didn’t like where this was going at all. “What does this have to do with anything?”

“Oh, I’m getting to that.” Palmer paced closer to the edge of the lamplight, prompting Ravager to back up deeper into the shadows. Not that it helped. “See, after she left, I got curious. Did a little digging. Some personal investigating, let’s call it. Turns out there aren’t any real records of a Sarah Walker matching her description going back more than ten years ago. Enough to pass basic background checks, but not enough to avoid scrutiny. Oh, sure, she had a birth certificate, and parents listed, and schools she was supposed to have attended, but if you actually give those places a call and ask questions, information just doesn’t match up.”

Ravager shrank further into the shadows. Alright. No way this was a coincidence. “Captain, I—”

“I’m not finished yet. You know, women with white hair and one eye aren’t exactly common. You always stood out around the station. Or anywhere you went, I’d imagine. Might not have been a big deal, so long as people never got a good look at the Blade. But after the last stunt you pulled? I had more than enough footage to pour over. Wasn’t exactly difficult to figure it out after that. Sarah Walker, the Blade. Rose Wilson, the Ravager.”

She lowered her head, a rush of tension disappearing from her body. Funny. Shouldn’t she be panicked that Captain Palmer knew who she was? Probably. So, why did she feel so damn relieved? “Who else knows?”

“No one. Yet. See, the point of that little monologue was that some people aren’t who you think they are. Can never be sure, really. Sarah Walker wasn’t who I thought she was. But then, maybe The Blade wasn’t, either. That’s why I’m giving you a chance.”

Ravager raised her gaze, looking into the older man’s eyes. They glared at her the way a scolding parent might when trying to teach his child a lesson. “A chance for what?”

“To show me exactly what kind of person you really are. You want to work in this city? Fine. But you’re going to work _with_ us. You’re going to work smarter. Safer. No more driving like a lunatic and almost getting yourself and other people killed. Or breaking into tech companies and stealing hardware. Slip up, and I won’t hesitate to slap a pair of cuffs on you. Got it?”

With a deep breath, Ravager straightened herself. This entire conversation was going the exact opposite to how she’d expected, and yet, weirdly, she didn’t mind. “Understood, Sir.”

“Good,” he said, as he pulled out the wad of gum from his mouth and pressed it between the wrapper. He made his way towards a nearby trash can and tossed it inside. “Then you can tell Chavez I’ll be expecting daily reports about your nightly activities.”

Ravager huffed. “Right. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“Now, then. I should assume you’ve taken this Shadows leader into custody? This, what did you call him, Shao?”

“Oh, right.” Lifting a hand to her ear, Ravager spoke over her comm. “That's your cue.”

The sound of an incoming aircraft hummed over the nighttime silence, as the Bet-Jet hovered into view above them. Ravager moved aside, giving it space to land. When it did, the hatch opened, allowing Batwoman and the Question to climb out, carrying the bound and unconscious Shao Shen.

Palmer scoffed, as an uncharacteristically amused grin curled across his face. “You work with the Gotham Bats too, huh? Interesting.”

“Yeah, well that’s me,” Ravager said, as she took Shao off their hands and dropped him at the captain’s feet. “I’m full of surprises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, been a while since I posted a new chapter. Was busy with a lot of other things going on in my life, but now I can finally work some more on this. There's one more shorter chapter coming up to finish up this arc, and then I can move into the next one. Can't say for sure how long it'll be, but I'll try to be a little more frequent than the past couple weeks.


End file.
